Starcrossed
by TheSoliloquy
Summary: In the depths of Moria, Legolas proves a worthy companion, but is afflicted with a slow, yet deadly, poison. Losing strength as he continues the quest, he fights to accomplish his wish: to live long enough to see the fall of Sauron. Spans Trilogy.
1. Expected and Unexpected

**Title: **Starcrossed**  
Characters: **Legolas, the fellowship, and pretty much everyone in the movies.**  
Disclaimer:** Must I say it? Really? It breaks my heart just to think of it, but no... I DONT OWN IT. None of the characters are mine**.  
Warning: **Contains major angst, Characters deaths, Violence, oh, and disturbing scenes of someone who seems quite literally insane.

**A/N: **So, yay! I'm glad I finally had the will to accomplish something! I don't usually do big chapters, but you get a lot more in them, and its more fun for the reador (I guess?). I'll be putting alot of angst into this fic. Of course there are character death since this is movie-verse (Sorry to the book-verse fans out there!), but one or two may not be expected *wink wink* Obviously R&R I don't think there's any more to this note, except for the fact that I'm going to try and get Legolas to bond with as many unlikely characters as I can, including my other favourite- by possibly more than Legolas- character Boromir :) Read on!

* * *

**Starcrossed**  
Expected and Unexpected.

"Legolas!"

Boromir's deafening roar rang through Frodo's ears, as the man of Gondor sloshed through the water carrying the small hobbit. Within a second, an arrow flitted elegantly past Frodo's face to embed itself in the giant watcher close behind.

"Into the mines!" Another voice bellowed, it's tone panicked, but through the confusion Frodo couldn't make out the speaker, horribly aware of the flailing tentacles at their heels.

The watcher squealed and shrieked with such ferocity that they were spurred on, running at a pace they themselves hadn't known they'd possessed, but no sooner had they stumbled inside that a great thundering shook the walls, and they turned to see rock upon rock protecting them from the monster; barring their entrance and exit. For a few deathly silent moments the Company held their breath, when finally a soft white light blossomed from atop Gandalf's staff, banishing the darkness and restoring light to the pitch black of Moria.

"Then the choice has been made for us." Gandalf's voice was grave, his face weary in the luminous light. "We must risk the four day journey through Moria; let us pray our presence goes unnoticed."

Without another word the old Wizard passed the companions and raised his staff to spread light as he strode into the black of Moria. Vaguely, Frodo was aware of ascending steps as they trudged, but the world seemed a dream to him. He, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, was where even a Hobbit's mind would never venture. He, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, walked in the presence of men, elves and dwarves alike: royalty and leaders of their own kin. He, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, balanced the fate of the world upon his breast. And yet Frodo Baggins couldn't help but wish that none of this had happened. True, they had yet to face casualties. And true, his companions were still capable of being light of heart- at this thought he stole a glance at Pippin- but the ring was having its effect on him. No matter how hard he tried, or how hard he argued with his conscience, he could not see the end of this. Somehow he, Frodo Baggins of the Shire, doubted both himself and the fellowship.

Silently he gazed at each companion, assessing them each in turn.

Sam trudged next to him: his most trusted and cherished friend. He couldn't think of a time when Sam wasn't there, helping him up after a fall; backing him in an argument; even staggering with him all the way to Bag-end after a night at the bar. Sam was devoted to all things living, from plants to hobbits, and it was these qualities that made Frodo so attached to him.

Behind he could hear the chatter of Merry and Pippin. Concerning his troublesome and mischievous cousins, Frodo couldn't remember a time when the two had been separate. Together they were partners in mischief, and they were those who found an inkling of light in the dark: Pippin with his innocent curiosity, and Merry with his jolly pragmatism.

As always, Gandalf led the company with his staff: the wizard was as dear to him as his Uncle Bilbo. Gandalf had been there even before he was born: the ever-loyal friend of Bilbo, and a friend to him too. Gandalf, with his ingenious fireworks and brass chuckle, was a mentor to Frodo for whenever he had troubles.

The long and steady strides tapping beside Gandalf's were plainly Strider; he had not known the ranger for long, but the man held such a manner and radiance that one could not even hesitate to trust him, and trust him Frodo did. The ranger had not failed him yet. Isildur's heir never put himself above anyone else, even with his position to the throne.

At the rear, Boromir was harder to read. At first the man had seemed arrogant, wanting to _use_ the ring of power instead of destroying it, but as they travelled Frodo began to learn more of the Gondorian. This was a man who'd spent his life in the shadow Mordor, pushed to the brink of his capabilities day after day by his father and Steward. The man had sacrificed much for his kingdom, and he only wanted what was best for his home: he was the noblest of men, and perhaps that was why the ring affected him so. Frodo would be forever thankful for the Gondorian's kindness to his younger cousins; were he more obstinate, Pippin and Merry would have none to show them they were not simply extra weight.

Gimli had taken up a new position at the front, where Gandalf had use of him as a guide. However, the long and twisting chambers of rock that was Moria, though of course he tried his best to hide it, confounded even the dwarf. Frodo was sure he'd heard Gimli many a time muttering something along the lines of "-Damn elf-…-never hear the end of it-"

Legolas's footsteps were a mere ghost on the stone floor. The elf, walking silently just ahead of him and to the left, still had his bow nocked. It may have been Frodo's imagination, but it seemed the elf was uneasy, here in the dark. He walked in a half crouch, ready to launch an arrow at the first sign of danger, and his eyes darted from side to side- though how he could see anything in this gloom, Frodo knew not.

As if feeling the hobbit's eyes on him, Legolas glanced back at him, and the uneasiness vanished in an instant to be replaced with a warm, reassuring smile. Frodo couldn't help but smile back, and noted with relief that as they continued, the elf replaced the arrow back into his quiver. Frodo liked the kind woodland Elf from the start, and although Frodo hadn't got to know him as much as Aragorn, he was sure he could confide in the elf. He'd since learned the stark differences between the elves of Mirkwood and Rivendell, the most obvious of which being the colour contrasts- Rinvendell's garments being a rich purple, and those of Mirkwood's being every shade of green and brown. _The elves of Mirkwood must be rather attached to Arda_, Frodo mused.

"-for a roast chicken right now, Mr Frodo." He heard Sam saying, and instinctively nodded an agreement. He was beginning to tire; they must have already been walking for hours, and to his delight Gandalf stopped and turned to the rest of the company.

"We will rest here. Legolas and I will take the watches." He informed them bluntly, taking off his hat and stiffly bending down to settle on a rock.

With relieved sighs the company heaved their packs from their aching backs and rolled out their sleeping mats, making light banter as they sat and shared out food.

"Are you okay, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked him eventually.

"I'm fine, Sam." Frodo replied with a small smile, seeing the hint of sadness in Sam's eyes. "And furthermore, I'm sure Bill will be fine too, Sam. He's as smart as any pony goes... you've made sure of that."

"Thanks, Mr Frodo." Sam smiled gratefully back at him, the sadness fading, "I bet he's back in Rivendell already stuffing his face with all the grass he can eat! My gaffer always used to say ponies don't half-" Sam's joyful voice was suddenly interrupted by another, angry, voice.

"I do not see any reason for which I could possibly have your axe!"

The fellowship inwardly groaned as they recognised the unmistakable sound of Legolas and Gimli in the throws of yet another argument.

"What! Of course you can, you insufferable _elf_! Where is it?" Dwarf argued back, his face reddening, but from anger more than his need to look upwards at his opponent.

"I would not touch that tin instrument with a _rag_, foolish _dwarf_!" Legolas hissed back. The two were so close that it was as though they'd embrace, if not for their clenched fists and seething words.

"My _tin _instrument is _much_ better than your _flimsy sticks_. A dwarfling could cause more damage!" Gimli's face was now a dark beetroot red.

"Ha!" Legolas snorted, or the elvish equivalent to one. "Your tin rusts. _Avo bedo brith_!" In comparison to the dwarf's red face, the elf's own had not changed colour in the slightest, but his fair features now twisted uncharacteristically into a sneer of anger. _/Don't speak gravel! /_

The fellowship watched, expressions a mix of horror and awe, as the dwarf snapped. Of course, Gimli had not known what had been said, but the meaning was clear and with a furious yell he launched himself onto the elf. Legolas could have easily dodged, maybe retaliated, but with his attention tampered by anger he tripped on the rough terrain and slammed onto the rock, the dwarf driving all the air from his lungs as he landed on top of him. For a moment the elf seemed stunned and did nothing to push off the dwarf, only blinking dazedly.

"_Gimli_!" Aragorn, Gandalf and Boromir cried in unison, immediately rushing forward to break the two apart. Frodo, Sam and Merry stood, uncertain if they should help, while Pippin sat on the floor, an apple frozen near his gaping mouth as he stared.

Gimli was landing punches on the elf, while the elf did likewise, punches unhindered by the weight pinning him to the ground. The men and wizard seemed hard pressed separating Gimli from Legolas, and so all four hobbits dove in to assist. A few minutes of struggling and grunting later, Gandalf, Aragorn, Merry and Pippin managed to wrench the dwarf from the elf, holding him back as Frodo, Boromir and Sam pulled Legolas from the ground. A small trickle of blood peeked from a small gash over his left eye and his back was coated with dust from the floor, yet he glared towards Gimli with pure hatred as Boromir stood in front, restraining him. Frodo held Legolas's arm tightly and, pulling back, he tugged on the arm until Legolas turned his head to him. Frodo sent him a pleading look, and the elf relaxed, his features softening in understanding before he stalked away from the group.

"That is quite enough, Gimli- this is the _last _thing we need." Gandalf scolded furiously. "I had not realised Lord Elrond had chosen _children_ to accompany this fellowship."

Gimli calmed somewhat at the words, but nevertheless grumbled as he trudged back to his sleeping mat and plopped onto it with a huff. Frowning and shaking their heads wearily, the others made their way back to their own mats, resumed eating as if nothing had happened.

"Where is Legolas?" Frodo eventually asked Aragorn, seemingly the only one concerned the elf had yet to come back.

"He has just gone to recollect his thoughts, he should be back." Aragorn said dismissively, as if this had happened many times with the elf before, and Frodo simply nodded in reply as all settled down.

One by one the fellowship drifted into their own unique slumbers, until only Gandalf and Frodo were left awake. After a few moments the wizard picked up his staff, and turned to the hobbit.

"Rest, Frodo. I will be only over there: there is a clearer view of our camp." Gandalf said softly, offering him a small smile before striding away and settling down on a rock not far from the fellowship. The soft glow of his staff had dimmed, but was enough that Frodo could make out the sleeping faces of his younger cousins and gardener.

With a sigh he lay down on his mat, pulling the blanket up to his chest as he lay on his back, looking at the unseen above. Another thing he'd come to know was how deep the hatred between elves and dwarves ran. His companions had certainly been at each other's throats since the first day of the quest, and it had even gotten to a point where Merry and Pippin began betting on who would win the fight, Legolas being the favourite, but never had it become physical, and never had he seen Legolas sporting such a look of anger and hatred. Perhaps unease had a part in it. The elf must certainly miss the stars, for he'd often seen Legolas gazing up at the sky, asleep or not. Being in a dark, dank place underground could not bode well for one of the fair folk of the skies, the trees and the earth.

"Legolas must be happy he cannot feel the cold." Frodo muttered thoughtfully under his breath, a shiver passing through his body.

"I am afraid I cannot be happy for the absence of something I have never experienced." Came a soft voice from beside him, and suddenly another blanket was draped on top of him, this one much warmer than the other.

Frodo turned his head to see Legolas sitting cross-legged next to him, a smile playing upon his lips and a look of mirth in his eye. Frodo noticed that Legolas's face was devoid of blood, the only reminder of his '_disagreement_' the cleansed gash, and this already beginning to scab over- by tomorrow it would be gone.

"Won't you sleep?" Frodo enquired quietly, mindful of his sleeping companions, and the wizard sitting on the rock nearby.

"Perhaps, but not yet." Legolas replied. He did not need as much effort to lower his voice.

Frodo nodded, and was silent as he gazed back above. Legolas, on the other hand, seemed to find a particularly interesting rock to stare at.

"Do you miss them?" Frodo found himself asking, and Legolas faced him again, an eyebrow quirked. "The stars, I mean."

Legolas was silent a few moments, and by the far-away look he held, Frodo wondered if the elf had fallen asleep.

"Yes." He replied finally, "I do miss the stars, and the moon also. The trees, and the birds… but I am where I should be and am not remorseful for it."

"And is this where you should be, truly?" Frodo asked, doubt clouding his voice. Legolas considered him for another moment before speaking.

"I feel... as if I should well and truly be here, as do, I am sure, our other companions… no matter if we quarrel and complain." Legolas looked him straight in the eye, "If any of us felt this is not the place to be, we would have turned back long ago." Legolas smiled slightly. "And I am just glad I have been spared the dwarven hospitality."

Frodo grinned at that, his heart gladdened by the elf's words, before sleep finally took him and he slipped into an easier slumber than ever before.

* * *

Breakfast had been short that morning, and no one spoke as they sleepily cleared away any signs of their being there. They journeyed in the same positions as the day before, with the exception that Aragorn was now in front of Frodo, talking in hushed tones to Legolas. The elf himself seemed slightly more cheerful, certainly not as pale as he'd been before.

"My old gaffer would never believe this. Eh, Mr Frodo?" Sam spoke; he gazed around in awe, all his previous fear vanished.

"I'm not sure that even Bilbo will believe this, Sam." Frodo replied with a smile as he thought of his old uncle. His smile widened as he heard the soft sound of elven laughter.

"Really, Estel. I had thought-" Legolas abruptly broke off, his azure eyes scanning the area intently.

"What do you see?" Aragorn asked lowly, drawing his weapon and motioning the others to do the same. Legolas opened his mouth to answer, but what he may have said was cut out by an incredible screeching noise.

Startled, the company whirled around, weapons held in front as they attempted to confront the unknown perpetrator of the ghastly noise. Frodo spun around, expecting to see their elven friend's bow already aimed at the source... but Legolas was in no position to do such a thing. The golden archer was doubled over, his hands clamped over his ears, and face screwed up in a grimace of pain; to mortals such as the rest of the fellowship, the sound was merely incredibly irritating, but to one of the firstborn, whose ears were so attuned… it was torture.

"Legolas!" Frodo exclaimed in horror. He doubted that, even if the elf could hear him, he'd be able to answer through his clenched jaw; it looked as though it may shatter under the pressure.

The others whirled around again, eyes seeking out the source of the hobbit's distress, before widening to an almost dangerous extent.

"What is that wretched noise?" Boromir hissed, scanning the black as Aragorn bent to put an arm around Legolas's stiff shoulders, worry etched on his face.

"I know not." Aragorn answered, eyes searching Gandalf's face for answers, but the Istar had his back to them, arms raised and eyes closed in concentration. Without warning the ember upon Gandalf's staff burned bright.

"_Dîn_!" Gandalf bellowed, his booming voice echoed along the walls. "_Drego morn_!" /_Silence! Flee night!/_

Gandalf's roar acted as a knight, slaying the beastly noise with what seemed to be a small choke and splutter, and silence fell once more.

Legolas's stance relaxed, and finally he opened his eyes and lowered his hands, straightening slowly. His expression was slightly dazed, and Frodo was not the only one to notice the drop of blood trickling from the elf's ear. A sickening feeling suddenly formed in the pit of his stomach.

"I have never experienced such a thing before…" Legolas murmured, a frown troubling his brow.

"Come. We must move swiftly," Gandalf spoke with a tone of urgency. "for that was louder than even your quarrelling."

The company wasted no time, moving in what was something between a run and a brisk walk, glancing behind them uneasily. Frodo looked at Legolas again, and though the elf had nocked his bow and his cobalt eyes scanned the area, he was yet again pale.

"I hear drums…" Pippin suddenly spoke, looking confused as to whether his information was relevant or not. The fellowship froze.

* * *

"I hear drums."

Legolas froze. How was it that a hobbit could hear the drums before he, an elf? It troubled him greatly, though not _nearly_ as much as the evidently approaching orcs. Even with his hearing at a disadvantage he could hear them clearly: roaring, snarling and banging their spears and weapons against any other object.

"Flee!" Bellowed Gandalf; stealth was no longer of any use.

They ran from what seemed to be the depths of Mordor itself, their feet and boots clattering against the rocks noisily. They ran blindly for Legolas realised that none looked in which direction they fled, and their mistake was dearly paid for by the sounds of roars coming from the direction they ran towards.

"We've been herded." Boromir breathed in horror, their feelings matching his. Orcs were foul creatures indeed, but even at that they were stupid creatures- or rather, _supposed_ to be.

The four experienced warriors stood in a ring around the hobbits without even negotiating the move. They must be protected no matter what, and the understanding was mutual for them all. Legolas expertly draw back the string of his bow. His eyesight level with arrow, the fletching hovering near the corner of his lips as he'd once been taught as a little elfling barely past his second century. He held his breath, watching closely as the orcs and goblins rounded the corner. There were not as many as he'd feared, but enough them to outnumber them greatly. _I must use sparingly, _he decided, _an empty quiver will not do._ At his elbow, Frodo peered fearfully at the ugly featured creatures, while at his other side Aragorn had nocked an arrow in his own bow. A mere glance at each other and they knew what had to be done: they were not to break from the ring and leave the hobbits, unless it couldn't be helped.

For a fearful moment, the company merely stared the enemy down, before finally the creatures roared- the breath before the plunge- and charged.

Legolas had loosed three arrows by the time Aragorn was fitting his second, but was forced to use his bow as a makeshift club when an orc came too close for comfort. He was dimly aware of Mithrandir's bellows, when suddenly the ring was broken. He saw Boromir stumble slightly, forced away from them, and it wasn't long before the whole fellowship was separated, and Legolas lost sight of the others. In a single fluid move he drew both of his knives, and used a scissor cut to decapitate the orc in front of him.

"Legolas! Have a care for Frodo." He heard the roar over the scuffle, and spun to see Frodo backed into a corner, waving sting in front as three orcs approached.

No time was wasted as he quickly adjusted his grip on one knife, throwing it with all his might at the nearest of the three. The knife did not waver once as it powered through its path, only stopping when it passed cleanly into the orc's throat. Brandishing his remaining knife, he sprinted to Frodo in time to block another orc's scimitar as it was brought down towards the hobbit.

"Stay behind me." Legolas ordered the ringbearer, never moving his eyes from the creatures.

With a swift fake to the right, he dispatched another by slicing its stomach, wrinkling his nose as its innards came spilling out. With a hiss of distain the third orc eyed him, taking notice of his carefully peaked ears.

"Elf!" It hissed, its forked tongue slithering from between its teeth. Its comrades, if they could be called that, turned their attention towards him, spitting out the single word as if an insult. Legolas paled, and he heard Frodo let out a small whimper as the creatures bore down on them. "Filthy elf!"

He adjusted his stance protectively in front of the hobbit, muttering an elvish prayer before swinging his knife in a quick arc down into the nearest orc; the orc made no sound as it fell to the ground, and the angered others lunged. In only a few moves three more were felled, more by their foolishness than Legolas's skills, but between skills and brains there were still many standing between the two companions and their fellows. They rushed at him like a pack of wild boars, swinging their weapons. Slice, slice, slice, and thrust! Four more crumpled to the floor, their bodies trampled by the others as they rushed to kill the first elf they'd seen in many a year.

Legolas plunged his knife into another's stomach, unprepared for the erupting screech as it was run through. Legolas's pounding head protested intensely as the sound ripped through his brain, and he hastily pulled his knife out: thankfully the orc was silenced in death. For a brief moment the world swam, before a flicker of movement caught his eye. A lone orc had slipped past him, ignoring the elf completely as he now stood grinning wickedly at Frodo, his scimitar posed in the air. The ringbearer shrank back in terror, helplessly raising sting in an attempt to ward off the impending blow. He had no need to. Legolas darted in front of Frodo, placing himself between metal and hobbit; the orc blinked at him, taking a small step back but bringing his scimitar around nonetheless. At the last moment the elvish prince jumped back, being mindful of the hobbit behind him. His mind was his downfall.

The jump did not take him completely out of harm's way, and the blade bit deep into his side. A stifled gasp escaped Legolas's lips, as he wavered for a moment and collapsed to his knees, grimacing. The orc laughed cruelly, the last of his comrades jeering at the sight of a wounded elf at their mercy.

"_Aragorn! Boromir!" _Legolas heard Frodo's pleading cry from behind, and strength was rekindled in his bones.

With a roar he thrust his knife hilt-deep into the orc before him, pulling it back out as he rose. Pain flared in his side but it couldn't be helped: Frodo needed him. He sliced into another orc, at the same time twirling from another and kicking its weapon from its hand. He sliced the defenceless orc's throat, before adjusting his grip on the knife and swinging his arm back to impale another in the chest without turning, but his success was short lived. An orc finally saw sense to slam into the elf's injured side, the force taking them both to the floor. This time Legolas couldn't stifle the cry of pain that escaped his lips, as his side burned in agony and his head cracked against the rocks.

Dark spots danced in his vision of the orc, and the creature's attention was focused fully on him as his knees pressed to his chest, eyes alight with maddened glee. He remembered his scimitar and raised it high above the gasping elf, when suddenly a rock hit his head with such force that his eyes crossed themselves before he crumpled like the orcs before him.

Legolas was dimly aware of small arms wrapping around his chest, and pulling him close to an equally small body. His back felt warm against the soft body, but the comfort was ruined as his breathing became painful. Just one breath would elicit a spasm of pain through his chest, and he moaned unintentionally at the discomfort.

The arms pulled him closer, tightening their grip around him as the body rocked back and forth, as if trying to soothe him, but he could hear the sobbing. He could hear the roars of Aragorn, Gandalf, Boromir, Gimli, and the three other little ones. Then his breathing slowed, and all was dark.


	2. Mithrandir's Orders

**A/N: **Yay, another chapter FINALLY done and dusted. It took ages to type this up because I handwrite everything first. I guess it's so I can write it anywhere, seeing as I haven't yet figured out how to fit my computer, set with keyboard, into my billabong side bag. And I'm not a fan of laptops; it's like getting an abacus when you have a calculator at home. Unless its of apple make, then it'd be an abacus decorated with pictures we don't know the meaning of. So anyway, thanks for the awesome feedback, I'm trying to work on making my sentences flow into one another, but even so, I think I'm a bit abrupt with it in this chapter. I doubt the next chapter will be as long, because my fingers ache from typing so fast, and I had a row with my mum because I was reluctant to get off the computer. I almost didn't post today actually. Haha. Read on...

**Disclaimer: **Nope, Nada, still not mine.

* * *

**Starcrossed**  
Mithrandir's orders

Aragorn spun around, taking off a nearby orc's head as he did. At first there hadn't been as many orcs, but now they were in his way- obstructing his view and making it hard for him to swing and thrust.

To his left Boromir fought protectively in front of Sam, the gardener using his saucepan whenever it was needed, and the ranger could make out the four figures of Gandalf, Gimli, Merry and Pippin, having managed to keep together in a strong group, but he saw neither Frodo nor Legolas.

" _Aragorn! Boromir!" _

Aragorn's head whipped up at the desperate yell, instantly recognising the higher voice of Frodo. He'd called for Legolas to protect Frodo barely a moment after the young hobbit had disappeared, but it seemed now that things had taken a turn for the worst. He parried a rogue scimitar, dodging another as he swiftly slid into a crouch and thrust his sword into the orc. Feeling Boromir brush past, he wrenched his sword free, glancing back to see Sam now with the others before following after Boromir, slashing and hacking as he went. He ducked as one orc spun; taking off its leg as Boromir decapitated an orc directly behind him. The two men worked like the clogs of a clock as they moved swiftly through the swarm of orc, ducking, dodging, parrying and essentially killing: Orc's lost all sorts of limbs and organs as the two advanced through the crowd. Sliding his sword from an orc's neck Aragorn turned and motioned for Gandalf. The old wizard nodded before ushering Gimli and the three hobbits in front of him, protecting them at the rear while the dwarf fought at the front. Without warning, a cry of pain wrenched the air, and Aragorn finally glanced past the last of the orcs. His dread was confirmed, even if reverse.

The prince of Mirkwood lay on the floor, helpless and in obvious pain as an exceptionally ugly orc knelt atop him, a wicked grin splitting the mess of its face.

"Legolas!" Aragorn roared, swinging his sword and taking the heads of two filthy creatures at once, pushing forward constantly

He could see the raised scimitar, unusually dull even as it was exposed to a single ray of light. He called out again, roughly barrelling into an orc in his fury and panic. _No!_ He could see the blade: swinging down through its path. His friend would die. He was too late.

But as the scimitar descended he heard a thump. A rock struck the orc hard, and full in the face, causing the orc to fall back in a heap.

Aragorn's eyes searched wildly for the source, finding instead that it was Frodo, knelt near Legolas, a slingshot clutched in his hand. _Praise to the slingshot_, Aragorn thought grimly as he plunged into another orc, _and to the uncanny shot if its wielder._

Behind, he heard the battle cries of Merry and Pippin as the two pounced on an orc, simultaneously plunging their blades into flesh, and the clear metal ringing of Sam's pan as he landed blow after blow on another's head. The very last two were taken care of by the dwarf and wizard: Gimli had simply powered his axe into the orc, while Glamdring entered the last's heart with a squelch. For little more than a moment the companions stood breathing hard, before the sobs of Frodo finally became known.

Each immediately turned to the noise, shock riddling their features.

In the middle of a ring of orc bodies, Frodo had barely moved from his position on the floor, but instead of a slingshot he now gripped the limp body of their elven companion. Tears ran steaks through his dirt-blackened face, as he awkwardly held Legolas- the elf's back pressed against him, and his short arms encircled around the prince in a protective embrace, rocking slightly.

Aragorn recovered first, and darted to the two, sliding his sword back into its scabbard without bothering to clean it. He crouched in front of Frodo, gently reaching out a hand and lifting the hobbit's chin. Frodo's eyes fearfully met his, but his arms were reluctant to relinquish their fallen elven protector, and only after heavy persuasion did they slowly unfurl from the elf's chest. Aragorn gently laid Legolas on his back, feeling the presence of the others behind him as he pressed his fingers against the cold flesh of his friend's neck.

"His pulse is slow," He finally announced lowly, before bending down and pressing the side of his face against the green clad chest. For a few intense seconds the fellowship watched with held breaths, before Aragorn finally straightened with a relieved sigh, "but he breathes."

"Come. We must find elsewhere to rest." Gandalf commanded swiftly, barely after the ranger had finished his sentence, already sweeping up to lead them away.

Aragorn picked up the fallen knives and tucked them into his belt, before sliding one arm under the elf's shoulders, and the other under his legs as he lifted the elf into his arms.

"Wait!" Frodo called, scurrying back. The fellowship watched as the hobbit moved quickly from orc to orc, pulling out Legolas' green fletched arrows from their bodies before putting them all in the quiver in his arms, and picking up the elven bow. Aragorn smiled: the hobbit must have seen Legolas doing the same thing whenever they'd hunted food, or came across an unwanted warg. Frodo ran back to Gandalf's side and the Fellowship set off again.

Boromir trailed next to Aragorn as they followed the others, a curious look on his face as he wondered how light the elf must be for the ranger to bear him with such ease.

"Despite their appearance and height," Aragorn began, as if sensing Boromir's unspoken question. "Elves are extraordinarily light to carry."

"In fact, their weight is little more than that of a child." Gandalf called from the front, his voice weary despite the informative tone.

It didn't take long for them to set up camp. Legolas was limp in Aragorn's arms, his head lolling and one arm escaped from the ranger's hold to hang limply at his side: Gandalf considered him for merely a minute before he finally called for them to stop, seemingly satisfied with the distance from the small battle zone.

However the wizard forbid a fire, and they spread their sleeping mats instead around his staff, the ember of which now shone brighter than before, watching apprehensively as Aragorn set the unconscious elf down, and crouched over him with Boromir.

For a short moment he contemplated cutting open the elf's clothes in order to reach his chest, but dispelled it just as quickly: Legolas would need the clothes afterwards, cold or not. Instead he asked Boromir to support the elf's upper body while he eased off the elf's green jerkin, revealing a tunic of pale blue, now stained with a dark red substance. As Boromir laid the elf back down he carefully unbuttoned the tunic, pushing it aside.

"Sweet Eru..." Aragorn breathed, his reaction echoed on the faces of the company; Legolas' pale chest was now marred with large and colourful bruises, leaving barely any of the pale flesh visible underneath,

But the worst by far was a large gash, snaking its way from Legolas' stomach to his side.

"I'm afraid there is more than blood that meets the eye, Aragorn." Gandalf murmured quietly, mindful of the hobbits as he heaved a deep sigh.

Wearing a frown, Aragorn examined the wound closely. Gandalf was right. He knew the blood of elves to be an almost silvery red in colour, whereas here the blood was much darker, purple rather than red or crimson.

"Poison?" He enquired, his voice equally as quiet, and was rewarded with a listless nod.

Aragorn cursed under his breath as he retrieved the herbs from his bag: they certainly couldn't risk a fire, and Boromir voiced this as the ranger crushed the herbs, before taking a cloth and using it to try and clean the wound. Only now was he was glad of Legolas' limp state, certain that the pain would be almost unbearable as he scraped debris from the edges of the wound, before using the herbs as a paste and coating the wound and binding it tightly. His finger gently probed the elf's chest, deducing that the elf had cracked, if not broken, a rib or two. Boromir again supported the elf as Aragorn used even more bandages to wind tightly around the elf's chest, glad that the ugly purple blotches were no longer visible. Finally he lay Legolas back down, draping a blanket over him and pulling it up to his chest before sitting down vigil next to him.

"Is he going to be all right, Aragorn?" Frodo asked, peering worriedly at the motionless elf over his food.

"Yes, he should be all right, Frodo." Aragorn kept his voice firm and steady, but his mind was anything but. He'd never seen such a poison, and it plagued his mind to not know of it, but the last thing he wanted to do was worry the ringbearer any further. He glanced back at the elf and suppressed a sigh. Only time would tell…

* * *

Frodo's eyes flickered towards the elf yet again: acting the same as the rest of the company. The hobbits couldn't seem to tear their gaze away from the motionless elf; Boromir shifted restlessly, his expression unreadable; Aragorn sat next to Legolas, and although he did not look at him, it was wordlessly noted the ranger's hand rested lightly on the elf's heavily bandaged chest, as if needing reassurance his friend was alive; Gandalf gazed between his food, Frodo, and Legolas, splitting his concentration while Gimli simply didn't seem himself. There was no other way to describe the dwarf: Gimli's brow was furrowed in what was either frustration or worry, and his troubled eyes rarely looked away from the elf. It seemed that the dwarf cared for Legolas after all despite their differences -_understatement_- and countless arguments.

Frodo frowned into his lap: what a peculiar group they were. Four halflings no bigger than children, while one of them held the fate of the world. Two men, one a Dûnedan, who evaded his rightful throne, and the other a man of Gondor, estranged from those not of his kin and in search of a way to save his kingdom. Then an elf and a dwarf, enemies by race, who did nothing but insult, degrade, tricks, belittle and fight each other in hatred, yet somehow managed to be worried when one or the other was injured,

And then of course the grumpy, old Wizard, who scolded more often than not.

"Is something wrong, Mr Frodo?" Sam's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"No, Sam." Frodo replied, offering Sam a small smile when the gardener continued to look concerned. Sam smiled back, but continued to glance nervously towards him as they ate.

Eventually their bodies began protesting from the lack of sleep, and the two younger hobbits lay down, spending a few minutes shuffling and bustling to get comfortable on the rock, a sight that set Frodo grinning. Sam, Gandalf and Boromir already lay on their mats, though it was clear they didn't plan on sleeping yet. Frodo suppressed a sigh as Pippin began fidgeting once again, before giving up in a huff.

"What plagues you, little one?" Boromir's muffled voice asked, obviously weary of the hobbit's constant shuffling.

"I'll never get to sleep here." He replied with a wistful sigh. "It's a shame Legolas isn't awake. I mean… that what happened today _didn't_ happen… because then he'd be fine, right?" Pippin sighed again, his innocent eyes thoughtful. "And then he'd be awake, and then I'd ask for a song… and then I'd have no problem getting to sleep!" Pippin finished as an afterthought, apparently satisfied with his revelation, before shuffling again. Frodo heard Boromir's heavy sigh, the Gondorian having already given up his attempt to still Pippin.

"Aye, and I wouldn't object." Gimli grumbled in his rough voice. The fellow froze and stared at the dwarf, wide-eyed.

"I shall hold you to that, Master Dwarf." A soft voice broke through the silence, originating from beside the ranger.

Those that lay down shot up as all eight heads turned in the direction of the elf, even Aragorn, who still had his hand on Legolas' chest, finally peered curiously at his friend. For a moment they stared at the motionless elf, but realizing his eyes remained closed, they began to believe they'd imagined the voice when suddenly the elf's lips quirked into a smile and Legolas cracked open an eye.

The fellowship breathed a sigh of relief while Gimli muttered something such as "sneaky", and "damn elf", embarrassed for having being caught off guard by the elf.

"Must you try and frighten us, Mellon nîn?" Aragorn said sternly, but a smile played on his lips, threatening to break free.

Legolas opened his other eye, and his own smile widened at the sight of the flustered dwarf. The elf's gaze slid over to Frodo, and something past over his face as his eyes met Frodo's. Relief? But the look was gone almost as soon as it had came, and Legolas attempted to sit up, only to be restrained by Aragorn.

"Rest a while, Legolas." Aragorn silenced the elf's oncoming protests, softly pushing him back down. "Even an elf's healing does not work so swiftly."

Defeated, Legolas nodded, resting his head back on the makeshift pillow and staring up above him, as if in thought. If not for the fact that Frodo has been travelling with him for the past few weeks, he would have though to be asleep, for elves needn't close their eyes as they slept- something many of the Fellowship found almost humorous.

Excluding Aragorn, who had first watch, the fellowship lay back down; Pippin apparently content enough to fall asleep straight away, while Frodo lay thoughtful. He could hear the deep breathing of Gandalf and Boromir as the two fell sound asleep, along with the soft snores of the other hobbits and dwarf. Instead of following suit, he watched the elf until finally his chest, still bare but for the bandages, rose and fell steadily and the elf's eyes began to glaze over with elven dreams. Legolas fell into an easy sleep, lying as he always had with one hand resting on his chest and the other by his side. A fond smile settled on Aragorn's lips, only to be replaced with an anxious frown as his hand hovered over the bandage, where a faint, dark stain was already beginning to appear.

Aragorn's frown deepened, and the last thing Frodo saw before succumbing to sleep was the ranger bringing his hand to rake his fingers through his hair, letting out a shaky sigh.

* * *

The "morning's" breakfast was the longest they'd had so far. After Gandalf had finally consented, they'd built a small fire from sticks they'd managed to gather and now huddled around it, straining for the warmth.

Frodo glanced over at Legolas and Sam. The two were sharing a conversation of plants, with Sam in the middle of explaining the qualities of an akerthorn of the Shire. Legolas sat cross-legged, nursing a mug of steaming soup in his hands, a blanket draped over his bare shoulders, and Frodo noticed how happily Sam seemed to interact with the elf: they shared a lot in common when in the subject of all things living.

"-But surely the thorns must take a while to get around?" Legolas asked, his voice noticeably quieter than usual, but the clearly interested tone of his voice encouraged Sam to carry on.

Frodo smiled to himself; Sam could talk for hours about plants, and it was good that the gardener could talk to someone who didn't have the need to feign interest.

On the other side of the fire Aragorn, Gandalf and Gimli had their heads together discussing the path, while Boromir polished his sword, smiling in amusement at the animated storytelling of Merry and Pippin, as they half recounted to the Gondorian and half argued with each other.

"And then there was this _humongous_ pig-"

"It wasn't _that_ big, Merry. You're telling the story wrong!"

"_I'm_ telling the story, Pip. Isn't that right, Boromir?" Merry enquired indignantly, but Boromir merely raised his eyebrows and chuckled. Frodo found himself listening between the two conversations for a few minutes, before the three discussing the path finally broke from their discussion and Aragorn stood.

"We must move on." He informed them, buckling his sword around his waist. "The bridge of Khazad-dûm is not much farther, and beyond that: our leave from this place"

The fellowship visibly brightened, even Gimli had enough of this dark hole.

Frodo watched from the corner of his eye as Legolas pulled on his pale blue tunic, a grimace passing quickly over his fair features. Frodo quickly passed the elf his green jerkin, as it had been out of his reach, and it may have pained the elf to stand. Legolas smiled thankfully at him, fastening his jerkin and arm bracers as the others noticed with silent distain that the bandages were obvious, straining against his clothes, making them seem tighter than they used to. Wordlessly, and ignoring their looks, Legolas pulled his knives, bow and quiver towards him, inspecting the arrows before sending another thankful look in the hobbit's direction.

The Fellowship spent another few minutes ridding the small camp of any signs of their habitation, expertly dissembling the fire and nonchalantly scattering the ashes, saving the remainder of the wood for later.

When it came for their time to leave, Frodo watched uneasily as Legolas attempted to stand, but elf swayed badly and almost fell had Aragorn not already been positioned to catch him.

After watching that swift display, Gimli seemed to have decided something and moved forward, picking up Legolas' pack and hoisting it onto his own back before any could speak. For a second everyone, even Gandalf, stared at him in surprise. This was the same dwarf who'd fought violently with the elf only two nights before, and now he was helping the elf of his own accord. Legolas was the first to recover, and for the first time smiled thankfully at the dwarf, albeit weakly for now he'd paled.

"Thank you… Gimli." Legolas thanked the dwarf, slightly hesitant in using his first name, but Gimli just nodded gruffly, turning away from the group as if waiting for them to start moving.

Frodo saw Merry and Pippin exchange looks of confusion, while Boromir gazed curiously at Gimli's back and Gandalf merely wore a sly smile. Legolas, on the other hand, was trying to bat off Aragorn's hands as the ranger tried to pry the elf's weapons from his back.

"What are you doing, Estel?" Legolas frowned at the ranger as he caught one of Aragorn's hands.

"You can barely walk, Legolas. Your weapons will not help matters." Aragorn replied, before adding. "They'll be safe with me."

Legolas' frown deepened but he allowed Aragorn to take his weapons. The ranger slung the bow and quiver over his own back, tucking the knives into his belt before leaving the elf leaning against a rock and frowning at the floor to cross over to Boromir. He muttered something into the Gondorian's ear. Boromir frowned at him, but Aragorn said something more and the man of Gondor shrugged to himself, before swaggering nonchalantly over to the elf and holding his hand out. For a moment Legolas simply frowned quizzically at the offered hand, but similarly to Aragorn, Boromir leaned forward and whispered something into the elf's ear.

Legolas' lips slowly quirked into a smirk, and a look of mirth replaced the pain in his eyes as he nodded and took Boromir's hand. Boromir pulled Legolas's arm over his shoulders, wrapping his own around the elf's waist and effectively helping their elven companion walk as they finally set off, their hearts lightened by the approaching exit.

Aragorn replaced Boromir at the rear as the Gondorian aided Legolas in front of Frodo and Sam. Frodo briefly wandered what had been said to Boromir, and in turn to Legolas, for it had created mirth in the elf, and even the stern-eyed Gondorian struggled to suppress a smile.

But as they walked the dark deepened, throwing them again into dependence on Gandalf's staff, and the terrain became rockier rather than smoother. It was as if they weren't near the outside world at all, doomed to walk Moria forever.

They were forced to concentrate on where they stepped, making it all the more harder for Legolas, who seemed to be leaning heavier on Boromir. And without warning the elf stumbled.

The Gondorian reflexively tightened his grip on Legolas; the elf visibly flinched when Boromir unintentionally applied pressure to his wounds. Boromir apologized and immediately moved his hand away from the offending area, receiving only a slight smile in response. Frodo examined the elf closely. Even in the dark he could see that Legolas had paled considerably, looking to be a stark white against the dark of Moria…

And just as Frodo glimpsed Pippin open his mouth to undoubtedly complain, his step landed on smooth stone. Looking down, he found with delight that the rocky floor had been replaced with just that.

"Indeed, Frodo." Gandalf spoke, noticing him looking down. "We are now in the very heart of Moria." With that he raised his staff, and the hobbits audibly gasped.

Never had Frodo expected Moria to be this beautiful- and he had cause after the uncomfortable past two days- but his breath caught as he took his first gaze upon the vast space, marked with pillars and arches of such workmanship and artistic skill that he couldn't help staring in wonder. In front of him Legolas took little interest, whereas Boromir was craning his neck to look at the arches.

The Gondorian looked back at the elf and said something, but the words were too low for Frodo to hear, leaving him confused as to why Legolas grinned in glee. Suddenly, and without warning, Gimli broke off from the group with a small exclamation, running to a room at the side.

"Gimli!" Gandalf called sharply, but the dwarf did not heed his call, entering the room as the fellowship began to follow.

A shaft illuminated a tomb in the very middle of the room, highlighting the dwarven runes carved into it.

"Here lies Balin son of Fundin. Lord of Moria." Gandalf translated, as Gimli sank to his knees with his face hidden in grief. "He is dead then."

The fellowship stepped past the grief-stricken dwarf to survey the room, as Boromir left Legolas leaning against the tomb to inspect the corpses. Frodo watched curiously as Gandalf came across a book, handing Pippin his staff and hat before blowing dust from its cover, and opening the pages. He only paid half attention to Gandalf's voice, his gaze wandering over the room and its skeletal occupants.

"…Drums in the deep. We cannot get out…" Gandalf trailed off, his last words having caught the attention of the company, all except Pippin.

A loud clang interrupted them, and they turned to see Pippin jumping back from a stone well as a corpse collapsed backwards, tumbling down. A bucket followed it, bashing heavily against the brick, and bringing about the destruction of the well as it caved in on itself with such a ruckus it made Legolas wince.

For a short moment the fellowship held their breath; the deathly silence filling the air with rising tension.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf snapped, snatching his items back. "Throw _yourself_ in next time and save us the trouble!"

The wizard turned away, but was stopped in his tracks before he could make another move. _Dum. Dum Dum. _The fellowship tensed, expressions frozen and eyes wide.

Gandalf closed his eyes for a moment and cursed before opening his mouth.

"Flee!" He bellowed, already pushing Pippin in front of him. The fellowship regained their sense and obeyed instantly.

Aragorn was first out with Sam and Frodo, while Boromir grabbed Legolas again, hastily half-dragging the elf with good cause as Gimli, Merry, Pippin and Gandalf followed. They ran as fast as they could, the small legs of the hobbits and dwarf working rapidly to keep up with the bigger companions. Legolas ran surprisingly well for an injured elf, half supported by another, but he was without any weapons. A sitting duck in infested waters.

They could hear the orcs from every side: ahead, behind, right, left, and even above. Frodo risked a glance up, blanching when he saw the orcs crawling down the pillars, like spiders descended to the flies. They were completely, and utterly surrounded. Just the nine of them in a circle, facing what seemed to be a whole army of orcs. There was at least twenty, no, thirty times as many orcs here as there had been before, and Frodo had certainly never seen so many of the same kin in one, save perhaps for his own kid at one of their famed parties.

They needlessly drew their weapons, hopelessly facing the orcs, as the ugly creatures taunted them as they had never been taunted before. Screeching and hooting as the company's hope was slowly diminished,

When suddenly the orcs froze, their hoots caught in their throats as they suddenly began to cower. With a shriek they turned and fled, yelling and tripping over each other as they disappeared through cracks and up the pillars.

Confused, the fellowship spun to confront only an empty doorway, lit by unseen fire

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir whispered. Legolas knew, Frodo could tell by the uncharacteristic fear in his eyes, but so did Gandalf.

"A Balrog of Mordoth." Gandalf replied grimly, his face dark. "This foe is beyond any of you, go!"

* * *

Only before had Boromir had been joking about the need for dwarves to have need of such high archways, and now… now they were running for their lives.

Of all the creatures of middle earth and beyond, it seemed only fitting that the fellowship would have the misfortune to come across a Balrog. Legolas almost groaned at the irony of it all: a dangerous quest indeed.

The pain in his chest flared, and his side felt as though it was ripping apart as he willed his legs to keep moving. The last thing they needed was for him to slow them down, especially with Boromir helping him: a trip could spell the end of them both.

Everything was lit now as they came across a place of broken stairways, and he could hear Gandalf forcing Aragorn through the doorway behind. How typical of his friend to try and help everyone.

They stopped, not knowing where to go, but with his elven sight he spotted the bridge instantly, and he pointed towards it as Boromir flustered. The Gondorian spotted it after a moment of squinting, and signalled the others as they hastily charged down a staircase to the right. He could hear the rapid pattering of hobbit feet as they followed, but only to be confronted with a gap in the staircase. For a moment the fellowship wavered, fazed by the gap.

_This will get us nowhere_, Legolas thought, and broke away from Boromir to leap.

The move was risky considering his condition, but even an injured elf could make light of such a gap, and he landed well on the other side, albeit unsteadily as he stumbled a little. Ignoring the now roaring pain, he tuned back to the group and beckoned for the wizard.

"Gandalf!" He called, urging the unsure Istari. The wizard jumped, landing safely on the other side with Legolas' hand to steady him.

Next came Boromir, holding Merry and Pippin firmly on either side of him as they also landed safely. Without a word the Gondorian immediately pulled Legolas' arm back over his shoulders, surprising the elf with his hardheaded concern.

Gimli went next, almost missing completely had both Merry and Pippin's hands not shot out, seizing a fistful of beard each.

"Not the beard!" Gimli yelled in alarm, before being pulled to safety by Gandalf.

Legolas watched patiently as Aragorn and Frodo prepared to jump, but at the last moment the stairs began to crumble beneath their feet, forcing them to retreat and leaving a gap that neither man nor hobbit could scale. The two hesitated as they contemplated what to do. Their choice was made for them.

All nine of the fellowship watched in horror as a large dagger of rock broke from the high ceiling, slicing through the stair behind the man and hobbit. The section on which they stood wobbled precariously, careering forward into the stairs holding the rest of the fellowship. The two jumped, landing safely in the catches of Gandalf and the hobbits- no relief was acknowledged, no one even looked back as they ran again, their eyes only on the bridge that lay before them.

The two younger hobbits went first, followed by Gimli, and then Legolas and Boromir. It was by sheer luck that the bridge was wide enough for the two of them as they moved across.

Legolas' breath laboured; he could feel his strength leaving him, and it was only Boromir's firm grip around him that kept him moving. The two almost crashed into the younger hobbits, as Merry and Pippin stood frozen, staring in horror at something behind them. Legolas spun with Boromir, seeing first that Aragorn and the remaining two hobbits had reached them. And then, beyond that…

A great beast of fire stood proud and tall, with eyes of flame and a cruel whip in its grip, and below it: a figure wielding both a sword and a staff of light. Mithrandir. Legolas' stomach dropped. In all of the centuries he'd known Mithrandir, he'd come to know that he was no ordinary wizard, but to do something like this? It was madness. Gandalf's voice boomed as he addressed the beast, strong and confident, and yet the Balrog simply watched him, maliciously cracking its whip.

"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" The old wizard roared, bringing his staff down hard onto the bridge with an almighty crack.

They hovered with baited breaths. For a few moments nothing happened, the beast remained, and so did Gandalf, but when the Balrog opened its mouth to let out an almighty roar of laughter, a deeper crack split the air. Gandalf stood unfazed as half of the bridge collapsed, taking the Balrog with it. Still Gandalf stood, peering cautiously over the edge before turning back to them. Legolas felt a sigh of relief escape him, but he saw then the cruel whip as it made its last attempt. The eyes of Mithrandir widened as he was clasped by it, dragged far enough back that he hung onto a crack with his fingertips. Legolas was aware that Boromir's grip loosened around him as the man restrained Frodo.

"_GANDALF_!"

Gandalf readjusted his grip, his eyes betraying his final fear. Silent, he held their gaze for a moment, pleading with his eyes.

"Fly you fools." And then he was gone.


	3. Flying

**A/N:** Okay, I had actually meant for this chapter to be shorter, but I couldn't help myself. I've been working on my sentence structures, so hopefully they flow a little more. I'd love feedback on that! Oh, and thank you for the reviews and such and such. I realised I was incredibly sloppy in the last chapter, because I saw trillions of typos (exaggerated slightly.) Hopefully, I've eliminated them... I've also made sure I put in the translations for the elvish, apart from the song. I don't think I said last time but _'Mellon nin'_ means _'my friend'_. Read on, and please review.

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own it. "Evenstar" is the name of the song, and is part of the film soundtrack.

* * *

**Starcrossed  
**Flying

Frodo stared at the spot. Gandalf had been there only a moment before, but now he was gone. Gone. Where had he gone?

"GANDALF!" Frodo cried at the height of his voice, trying to reach him.

He was there; of course he was there. He was -_is_- Gandalf. Gandalf didn't just disappear.

"GANDALF!" Why didn't he appear? Was he hanging just out of sight, waiting for them to aid him? Yes, that made sense. He tried to run towards the edge, to aid Gandalf, but strong arms restrained him, holding him from the bridge, from Gandalf.

"NO! GANDALF!" What was Boromir doing? Didn't he know Gandalf needed them? But wait, why wasn't Gandalf calling for them? Damn wizard pride.

The arms were dragging him away now, away from Gandalf. Frodo frowned in annoyance, even Gandalf wasn't as proud as this. He would have at least made his presence known.

And then it dawned on him: Gandalf was gone.

His breath left his lungs, his head shook disbelievingly, but he understood now: Gandalf was gone. He let the arms take him, pulling him away, away from the broken bridge. Gandalf was gone. Dead: his blood was cold, his breath stolen. Gandalf ceased to be, the moment he fell from that bridge.

The cold slapped him in the face as they stumbled out into the open air. He could hear the sobs of Merry and Pippin, and the struggles of Gimli as the dwarf tried to push his way past Boromir to the mines, with the same naïve thoughts that Frodo had before. _Foolish dwarf_, he thought bitterly, _Gandalf is gone._

Oh, he understood perfectly. His lifelong friend, his mentor: deceased. A single tear made its way down his cheek at the thought of the wizard's mangled body, lying beside that of the beast.

"Frodo!" He heard Aragorn's voice call him, and turned to face the ranger as the tear slid down to his chin. Aragorn merely gazed at him for a moment; his stormy eyes brimmed with understanding. "Come, Frodo." Aragorn called again, this time his tone softer.

Frodo looked down at his feet but obliged, half-heartedly picking his way over the rocks to his remaining companions. Frodo felt a pang in his heart. Now a fellowship of eight, they stood waiting patiently for him, though it seemed that Legolas was in fact leaning on a boulder rather than standing.

Aragorn started moving the moment he reached them, shouldering his pack.

"We must move quickly." He told them firmly, looking over his shoulder to make sure they followed.

Closing his eyes for but a moment, Frodo willed himself to carry on. It was what Gandalf would want. No doubt the wizard would have been scolding them by now.

His lips curled upwards at the thought, but behind he heard a soft thud and a gasp of pain, followed in precession by elven cursing. He turned to see Legolas sprawled on the rocks, his face set into a grimace as he attempted to push himself up. And was failing miserably, Frodo noted grimly. The elf's arms shook as he raised himself, and Frodo watched as a teary-faced Sam bent and took hold of one, helping him to his feet. Legolas politely thanked him, completely ignoring their concerned gazes.

Sam smiled as well as possible in reply, turning to walk back over to Frodo, but the ringbearer was still watching the elf curiously.

Legolas readjusted the bow and quiver on his back, before his watchful eyes focused intently on the rocks as he unsteadily made his way again. It took only three steps for the elf to trip again, and he crashed painfully to his knees with a wince. By now the rest of the fellowship had stopped to watch in confusion, and again Legolas ignored them, or at least as much as he could when one short member marched up to him.

Gimli seized his arm, pulling it round his own broad shoulders and encircling the slim waist as he roughly supported the elf.

"Can't stand watching you fail at that, now can I, Laddie?" He explained gruffly as Legolas frowned down at him.

As good as the dwarf's intentions were, it was almost comical to see the short dwarf attempt to help the much taller elf, and perhaps Boromir realised this, for he came up beside Gimli.

"Good intentions, indeed, but I'm afraid it will only be in vain, Master Dwarf. You are almost half his size." Boromir pointed out, his face having returned to its serious demeanour, as the dwarf blushed in agreement. With that, the Gondorian took Gimli's place, and Frodo turned his attention to the ranger up ahead.

He hadn't looked back once.

* * *

Aragorn would rarely stop, only to wait impatiently for them and other times to scan the horizon, but otherwise he trudged tirelessly. Frodo knew that Aragorn was thinking of their safety, but the behaviour annoyed him to no end. Of course, they all had their own ways of dealing with death, but the rangers' method of blocking it, and everything else, out was ridiculous.

He was even ignoring Legolas. The woodland elf was clearly in pain, but showed incredible resilience to their unending walking. The hobbits, on the other hand, were faring somewhat the same discomfort. They were not in pain, no, but their small bodies and short legs were not ideal for walking tirelessly at such a pace, and the long hours and worn emotions were taking their toll. Frodo was finding it hard to keep his eyes open.

"Aragorn!" Boromir's deep voice called, having noticed their fatigue, "We must rest! The hobbits are tired… and I cannot deny my own weariness…" He added under his breath.

The ranger stopped for a moment, gazing wistfully ahead before turning back to them with a curt nod. Pippin breathed a sigh of relief, immediately plodding down onto the grass in such a manner that Frodo's mouth almost twitched. Almost.

Aragorn silently surveyed the area as he strode over to them, where Sam built a fire with Gimli, the red sunset lighting the sky above them. The days were growing steadily colder.

"Will there be rain, Legolas?" Aragorn asked, his voice devoid of any emotions, sending shivers up Frodo's spine.

"No," Legolas replied, glancing skywards. "Not until tomorrow."

Aragorn nodded, a hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword as he continued to gaze towards the west.

Frodo frowned, but averted his attention instead to Legolas. The elf sat on a rock, his legs uncrossed in an uncharacteristic position, as he seemed to fiddle with his bow, running his long-fingered hands over the carvings on the wood. Frodo sat opposite him, feigning interest in the glowing embers of the growing fire. The elf had also rarely spoken that day, weariness having overcome him. Even in Moria had he been known to suddenly break into song, or peals of laughter, but now all his joy was absent, and as such he remained mute.

The hobbit stretched his legs out in front as he mused, wordlessly accepting broth from Sam. He watched the last slice of the sun disappear beyond the hills, his thoughts mulling over Legolas' earlier words.

"I go to find the sun!" Well, he'd found the sun at last, but it now slipped from them, submerging into the dark with their less than hopeful future. They'd been doomed since setting from Rivendell, Frodo now realised. Boromir had been right all along: one did not simply walk into Mordor. The quest had diminished the merriment of their youngest – Frodo glanced at the sullen Pippin – and even the fairest. Immortals shouldn't know of death, Frodo decided. A mortal life was merciless enough when a loved one ascended to the halls of Mandos, but facing an eternity of anguish and despair would surely break a heart.

Frodo glanced over at the elf again. The strain placed on the elf looked at first to be only of pain, deciphered by the stiffness of his back, and the tightening around his eyes, but there was something unseen.

Frodo saw how Legolas looked to the sky every few moments, his pale eyes scanning every aspect as if only reading the clouds. He had swapped his bow for broth, but it grew cold in his hands, and even still he looked to the skies. Waiting. Searching.

Never once did he look at the ranger, and never once did the ranger look at him.

* * *

Aragorn abruptly shook himself awake. The night had fallen heavily with the leave of the sun, and now the rest of the fellowship rested fitfully despite their ordeal. Gimli's incessant snores punctuated the very fact, as they slumbered on, heedless of it. He should be waking said dwarf any moment, but had no intention of doing so. Gandalf's death had been only that day, and though he hid it, the events wore on his mind. The death of the friend he'd known for long shocked him beyond even grief, pushing his emotions into limbo. Only when he thought of the near death of his friend did he feel, and he despaired. Despaired for the quest. Despaired for the future of the fellowship. Despaired for his friends. And this very despair questioned his ability of leadership. One had already perished in Moria, and this he understood was not his fault, but he'd also let down the closest friend he possessed. The elf lived, indeed, but Aragorn could not bear to look at the prince of Mirkwood. The effects of both his wounds and the poison were becoming painfully apparent, and of the short glimpses he'd captured of Legolas, he'd known instantly that the elf held more than he gave.

The normal elven fluidity and flawless gait had been replaced with a mere clumsy stumble. His friend could barely walk on his own; with or without the mind of a healer, Aragorn knew they must reach Lothlórien swiftly. Such was the reason he'd powered on ahead, temporarily blinded by the need to ensure his friend's safety. Little had he known that his blindness in fact weakened both his friend and fellows even further.

He sighed again, passing one hand over his eyes and massaging his temples: the stress was tiring. He remained in this position for a while, when a soft touch on his shoulder startled him.

"Forgive me." Frodo immediately apologized when Aragorn jumped and whirled around. "My intention was not to startle you"

"Frodo, why are you not asleep? Is something amiss?" Aragorn blurted softly in one breath, his stormy eyes already surveying the camp for dangers.

"No, no. Only…" Frodo hesitated unsurely, his eyes glancing into the distance. "I think there is something wrong with Legolas."

Aragorn let his hand slip from the hilt of his sword, frowning in confusion at the hobbit. Legolas had been fine the last time he'd looked, considering his condition.

"Legolas?" He repeated. The hobbit nodded vigorously, seizing his arm and pulling him forcefully to where the elf lay, being mindful of their sleeping companions.

The first abnormality that struck Aragorn was his unusual position. The elf didn't lie on his back as he had so far on their journey, instead preferring now to curl on his right side- his uninjured side, Aragorn noted. On one had his head rested, crown inches from Boromir's back, as if his improvised pillow was not sufficient a cushion, while his bow was gripped in the other. A frown was fixed on his tightly drawn features, and he twitched as Aragorn and Frodo neared, jaw clenched.

"I don't recall ever seeing him sleep like that." Frodo whispered, as the prince of Mirkwood emitted a shaky breath.

Aragorn nodded grimly, glancing over his shoulder to see that the fellowship hadn't stirred despite Frodo's troubles, certainly devoid of energy. He smoothed the frown from his face before turning to Frodo, placing a hand on the hobbit's shoulder and opening his mouth, when suddenly a quiet sound chilled his bones.

The elven prince's features tightened, a soft strangled cry of pain escaping his lips, and the stifled utterance that followed was just barely audible.

"_Naneth_." Legolas breathed, his grip tightening on his bow as his knuckles whitened under the pressure. _/mother/_. Still the fellowship slept.

Aragorn reached out, hesitating when he found his own hand shook, but another elvish mutter propelled him to lay it on his friends shoulder. The elf jerked awake, the grip on his bow loosening.

"Legolas?" Aragorn whispered, waiting patiently as Legolas' hazy gaze swivelled to him, adjusting blearily on the ranger's crouched form. It took a blink for the elf to recognize him, another to notice the second, smaller figure, and a third to realize where he was.

"Is something wrong, Aragorn?" He whispered, his words heavily slurred. Aragorn frowned: the elf rarely called him anything other than Estel, and he certainly never slurred.

"You are in pain, _Mellon nîn_." He replied, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. _/My friend/_

Legolas merely frowned at him for a moment, his eyes flickering to Frodo.

"I am not." He replied defiantly and at this louder noise, Boromir stirred in his slumber and mumbled incoherently before falling still. "Is it wise to make noise and wake the others?"

Aragorn stared dumbly at his friend, annoyed that the elf knew the exact words that would halt his actions. He couldn't bear to wake the others and begrudgingly nodded, nevertheless giving the elf a look to show they were not finished. Legolas merely rolled his eyes at him, smiled reassuringly at Frodo, and settled back onto his side, tucking his arm back under his head and turning his face into the crook.

"Come on, Frodo." The ranger said softly, guiding him back towards the hobbit occupied area of camp. "Sleep. Legolas will be fine, I'll make sure of that."

His eyes met Frodo's firmly, and he prayed they did not betray his uneasiness. It seemed his prayers were answered, for Frodo nodded and lay down, allowing Aragorn to drape his blanket over him. Aragorn smiled, as Sam was immediately aware of Frodo's presence, and tucked up protectively to his master even in sleep. Frodo would not be cold tonight.

He wearily picked his way through the sleeping bodies to his post, sitting heavily down onto the smooth boulder. Elves rarely slept with their eyes shut; it occurred only when an elf was greatly fatigued, or in immense pain.

That night their elven friend suffered, and still the fellowship slept on.

* * *

Frodo woke to the smell of mushrooms, sniffing the air cautiously before finally opening his eyes. Sam crouched over a roaring fire stirring a pot as he muttered to himself- the Company watched him wearily, as if fearful for sanity- but his curly head turned in his direction as he sat up.

"Mr Frodo!" He greeted happily, "I was just about to wake you… unfortunately." Sam added under his breath as he turned back to the pot.

Frodo shuffled forward to sit cross-legged next to Pippin and Gimli, the latter of whom was eyeing something disapprovingly. Frowning, Frodo followed the dwarf's elf seemed unaware of the dwarf's scrutinizing gaze; his dull eyes only bore into the fire unseeingly, his skin waxen in the half-light. His eyes flickered up only briefly as Sam announced breakfast was ready, and proceeded to pour the broth into bowls and hand them in turn to the company. Legolas moved his head as if to decline when it came to his turn, but a hard look from a certain dwarf forced him to bite his tongue and accept with a small smile. If one hadn't been watching the elf closely, they wouldn't have noticed that slight shake of Legolas' hands as he accepted the bowl, but Frodo saw, and judging by the stiffened dwarf beside him, so had Gimli. The elf himself noticed also, for he quickly withdrew his hands with the bowl, and sat sipping silently for the rest of breakfast, avoiding everyone's eyes.

Aragorn eventually put down his bowl and announced their leave; evidently as eager as he'd been the day before to get to Lothlórien. Frodo handed his own bowl to Sam as Boromir stamped out the fire, scattering the wood and ashes as always. The moves looked oddly practised now, so many weeks down the line. Legolas merely picked up his weapons and slung them on his back, before skimming the camp with his eyes for his pack, only to find Gimli had taken it yet again. The elf didn't argue. Whether it was the defiant look in the dwarf's eye or his own weariness, Frodo didn't know, but it was becoming an unusual habit for the elf to let Gimli have his own way with naught but a resigned nod.

Frodo's thoughts were quenched when the elf rose to his feet, taking a second to steady his swaying before hitching his weapons higher up his back and stalking past the ringbearer. Boromir accepted the decline of his help without a word, deciding instead to keep an eye on the two younger hobbits.

The journey resumed silently.

They stood in the usual formation, minus the leadership of Gandalf, but not even Pippin had the heart for any jokes or quips. He was quiet even when his stomach rumbled with the force of an earthquake; one look at his companions was enough to cut off his complaints. Frodo sighed, missing the previously dreaded words of "I'm hungry", but no one spoke, and thus they remained.

The sun was hidden high in the air by the time Legolas broke the silence.

"The clouds are upon us." He murmured more to himself than anyone else, before raising his voice slightly. "A storm, possibly thunder. It would be wise to seek shelter now, Aragorn."

Aragorn stopped, motioning for the others to do the same as he scanned the grim skies. No sooner had he done so that the first drop landed on his face, followed closely with more. Aragorn sighed with a nod, surveying the land for shelter. The wind had picked up considerably, and now it whipped the ranger's dark locks about his face as he spotted something.

"There!" He announced, pointing in the direction of a cave, not tall enough so that the bigger of them could stand, but a palace compared to other shelters they'd inhabited- the fellowship turned to it eagerly as the rain began to thicken.

After only a single step Pippin's barefoot slipped on the slippery surfaces of a wet rock, and he fell forward- straight into Legolas' back. The elf stumbled with the hobbit, somehow managing to keep his feet, but the force had jolted his body and before their very eyes he turned an impossible green colour. Pippin's stuttered apologies halted when the elf suddenly turned to scramble away from the group, and towards a small bush.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called, taking a step in the same direction, before turning back to them. "Go! We will be there in a moment." He ordered the company firmly, already turning to move hastily after the elf. They obeyed the command, but kept their heads turned to watch the commotion.

Legolas didn't even make it to the bush, crashing to his hands and knees not far from the fellowship. The horrid sounds of retching reached them, renting the air and wrenching their ears. They watched in horror as Legolas' shoulders heaved harshly, violent tremors wracking the elf's slim body with unforgiving force. Aragorn reached him, but still the ordeal continued as the elf's stomach struggled to bring up what it didn't possess, and how the ugly noises could be ear-splitting even through the howls of the wind was beyond Frodo. Under the shelter Pippin clamped his hands over his ears, but even he could not stop staring as Legolas' retching finally ceased and the ranger wrapped his strong arms around the elf, pulling him back and away from the mess. Even from there, they could see Legolas' chest working rapidly to gain breath as he lay between Aragorn's legs, his back against the ranger's chest and head resting back on his shoulder as Aragorn held him tightly. Legolas brought up his own hands to clutch desperately at Aragorn's arms, and the new sounds shocked the fellowship out of their senses. The sobs mixed with the pattering of the rain, but they were painfully obvious. And elven.

Now Merry clamped his hands over his cousin's ears and Boromir moved to obstruct his view, but the elf's suffering could not be drowned out. Legolas lay sobbing and shivering wrapped in Aragorn's arms, while the ranger tried desperately to soothe him, rocking with the elf, and a soft elvish song soon drifted towards the fellowship alongside the weeping.

"_Ú i vethed nâ I onnad. Si boe ú-dhanna. Ae ú-esteli, esteliach nad._

_Estelio han, estelio han, estelio, estelio han, estelio veketh."_

The lilting words held such beauty, that even Gimli was awed as they worked their magic and the sobs eventually subsided. The two remained that way for a little while, despite the sodden floor underneath them, and the rain that soaked them. Finally Aragorn looked in their direction, anguish tainting his features as he held onto the shuddering elf. He held their eyes for a second, before bowing his head and whispering something to Legolas. The elf let his hands drop from Aragorn's arms as they slowly unfurled from him, and Aragorn adjusted his position as he pulled the elf's arm over his shoulder, bringing Legolas up with him as he rose. Legolas' knees shook and buckled underneath him almost immediately, but Aragorn caught him, holding the elf tightly as he half dragged him towards the shelter. Sloshing through the rain was difficult now that the ground had become a light marsh, and Legolas would trip or stumble, bringing both splashing down.

Finally, Boromir could take no more, running out to meet them and seizing Legolas' other arm, the two men eventually pulled themselves and the elf into the shelter. Aragorn set Legolas against the wall, already working past the elf's jerkin and through the clasps of his drenched tunic, but savage shivers ran down Legolas' body, and his harsh breathing filled the cave. Concerned, Aragorn stopped to feel the elf's cheek with the back of his hand.

"Aragorn?" Gimli's concerned, gruff voice asked when he instantly drew his hand back, as if burnt. The elf was cold, colder than even the ice of Caradhras.

Glazed eyes met grey as the ranger looked into his friends face, but hastily averted as the ranger focused on the last clasp, and pulled aside the wet tunic. He hastily unwrapped the bandages without apprehension, ordering the others as he did so.

"Boil some water."

Sam seized his pan to collect rainwater, and Pippin and Merry gathered wood from the back of the cave for Gimli to light.

The elf himself watched silently through half-lidded eyes, sweat mixing with rainwater as his eyes flickered feverishly from one figure to another. A troubled frowned appeared on Frodo's brow as he realised the elf trembled and his chest struggled painfully to rise and fall. Frodo cringed every time his breathing hitched, but every time the laboured sound would continue. The water couldn't have boiled fast enough, and once it had Aragorn submerged a cloth, uncaring as his hand was scolded by the hot water.

Legolas' breath hitched again as Aragorn pressed the soaked cloth against the wound. He made no noise as Aragorn cleansed the wound, before turning and crushing a concoction of herbs into a fine powder; his pale blue eyes watched carefully as Aragorn began to rub the powder into the wound, yet his jaw clenched tightly and his slender hands balled into fists by his side. The ranger glanced again into his friend's face as he deftly tied off a fresh bandage around his waist, asking something quietly in elvish. Frodo could not decipher the question completely, understanding only snatches of words, one of which was 'heal', and the name of their destination: Lothlórien. Legolas blinked slowly, but moved his head in a nod, apparently agreeing to what had been said.

"We leave when the weather clears. The woods of Lothlórien are not far from here." Aragorn informed them, turning to pack away his herbs.

And so they did, a mere hour after the rain had started. Frodo looked ahead where Legolas was walking, heavily supported by the ranger. The elf wore a spare, dry tunic from his own pack, as the other and his jerkin were soaked through. Now the hobbit was glad that Legolas had consented for Gimli to carry his pack, for otherwise the elf would have had only wet clothes to wear, and he was already shivering in the dry.

And none cared of the fact that they pushed on relentlessly; one look at the semi-conscious and stumbling elf was enough to renew their spirits, and so they were rewarded with the soft kisses of falling leaves, and the licks of branches at their heels. They had reached the golden wood at last.

They gazed around in wonder as the filtered light illuminated every aspect, but Aragorn was too focused on his burden to care for the beauty of it all.

"Stay close young hobbits!" Gimli suddenly whispered to Frodo and Sam, grasping his shoulder lightly, "They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods." The dwarf stepped forward again, speaking back to them as he edged his way with his axe raised halfway. "An elf-witch… of terrible power. All who look upon her… fall under her spell."

_Frodo!_ The hobbit jumped, startled out of his skin.

"And are never seen again…"

_Your coming to us is as the footsteps of doom._ The whisper came again, resounding inside his head. _You bring great evil here, ring-bearer._

"Mr Frodo?" Sam's voice grounded him back to the woods, breaking the ghostly echo in his mind. He tried to send a reassuring look at the gardener, but it failed miserably, and Gimli's rumbling voice came again.

"Well, here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily." The dwarf grunted, his eyes threatening the trees. " I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox."

Convinced by his own words, Gimli almost trudged straight into the head of an arrow as elven archers surrounded them, and a curt voice sounded out from the shadows.

"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark."


	4. Cursed Butterflies

**A/N:** Right, fourth chapter. I'm soooo glad I haven't lost interest yet, and am not likely to be soon :)) In the last chapter ("flying2) I used lyrics from a song form the film's soundtrack, and the song is actually called "Evenstar". I said it was from something else, sorry about that. Oh, and there was a little lyrics in it, where it said, which must have seemed weird for Aragorn to sing to Legolas, so I'll just say again it's NOT a slash. An answer to the question made by **sUp3rhiRo**, is no, I don't think this story will have any particular pairings, besides that of Aragorn & Arwen. Though it will certainly **seem** as though there might be implied stuff between Legolas and Eowyn, but it won't be going anywhere. Oh, and my older sister has just called me very rude word... how charming. Also, in the summary it said a **slow** poison, so you might be wondering why its working so fast if it's supposed to span the trilogy, it'll be explained here. So, keep reviewing and whatnot, it keeps me going. I see a review and think "**FOOD!!!**" Hehe. I think that's all i need to say. Have I said THANK YOU for the reviews? Yes? Okay, read on...

**Disclaimer: **anything that is familiar is not mine, ergo Lord of the rings is not mine, nor the characters.

* * *

**Starcrossed  
**Cursed Butterflies

Gimli bristled indignantly, but said nothing as he glared at the new elf, a silence for which Aragorn was glad of. The elf only smirked in return, but signalled for the archers to lower their bows.

"What brings a dwarf to Lothlórien?" He enquired, his words clipped and hostile.

"We have come from Rivendell," Aragorn spoke with no hesitation, at ease even in the midst of armed elves. "And we have need of your assistance."

"Rivendell? So this must be…" The elf murmured thoughtfully, ignoring the dwarven daggers sent his way as he turned to the ranger. "Where is-" He broke off abruptly, frowning in utter shock as he finally noticed Aragorn's burden, and he took in Legolas' condition silently as he strode to face them. Legolas was still supported heavily by Aragorn, but with his head bowed and skin waxen it seemed he was more hanging than standing, and what little weight he placed on his own legs caused them to quiver with strain. It was clear he was barely conscious.

"How is it that the prince of Mirkwood came to be this way?" He asked curiously, the frown still riddling his brow.

"We were attacked in Moria, by orcs and goblins." Aragorn replied gravely, before practically spitting out another word. "_Saew_" //poison//

The elf frowned again, appearing thoughtful before issuing a swift order to his companions, never once taking his eyes from the elven prince.

"You will follow my brothers. They will take you to our camp for now, but I will take Legolas Thranduillon." He told the fellowship, as two elves stepped forward from the group of archers.

Again, there was little hesitation as Aragorn shifted Legolas' weight to the leading elf, motioning for his cautious companions forward as they were led away, and so the last they saw of their elven companion was his back, as the elf leader disappeared with him down a different path.

* * *

He was well aware of the fact that he was walking, albeit barely, and that he was being supported by another. What confused him was everything else.

Sounds blended into one another, leaving only a muddled buzz, and the only think he was able to decipher from the blurred splodges and fuzzy outlines of his sight, was that he was in a place of green- very green. He blinked vigorously, trying to make sense of the nonsense, but failing at that, he abandoned the attempt and instead stumbled on robotically. He came close to tripping multiple times, but every time his supporter would easily steady him, and tighten the grasp on his wrist and around his waist. Legolas frowned as only he could. Hadn't the supported been on his other side? And wasn't this unknown figure a considerable amount slimmer than before? Surely they had not been walking so long that the supporter had lost _that _much weight._  
You are delirious_, Legolas decided to himself, but then the grasp on his wrist was released and he felt a cool, slender hand press to his forehead. _Ahh cold_, he thought gratefully, as another hum was added to the continuous buzz. He felt his mind beginning to clear, and soon his eyes were able to pick out bushed and trees, and he heard a voice speaking in his native tongue.

"Legolas Thranduillion, speak if you hear my voice." The voice was oddly familiar, but before he could ponder it, a wave of nausea washed over his senses, and he collapsed.

Swift arms caught his immediately, and he felt himself being cradled against a body as slender as the hand. He blinked, willing the dizziness away as the face above him cleared, revealing unmistakably elven features.

"Haldir?" He rasped, wincing at the pathetic croak of his voice.

"Aye, Thranduillion, it is I." Haldir's face smiled slightly, but looked back to the path as he resumed walking, carrying the elven prince carefully in his arms.

Legolas thought back to his youngest years, when his father had to resort to carry him asleep to his bed, countless times. The differences between then and now were stark, but through the queasiness he felt the same safety as in his father's arms. He took another deep breath, but his mind blurred one again, and he was sure the air was thickening as they ascended stairs.

"Where are the others?" He whispered, regretting it as the sound scratched at his raw throat.

"Rumil and Orophin are leading them to camp." Haldir answered, lightly jumping from one platform to another as if it was merely another step. "We take the quick path to the lady of light."

Legolas nodded dazedly, but immediately stopped when a sharp pain shot through his brain. Haldir paused to look down at him, shifting his hold to stop Legolas' head from lolling, but it was too late. Why was the world spinning? Legolas tried to make it stop, but just thinking sent more pain shooting through is skull, and he couldn't suppress the groan from his lips. It felt as if orcs were setting fire to his brain, and dancing around the bonfire. He could see Haldir's panicked look, and suddenly they were running- no, _flying_ -through the trees and across stairways and platforms. The wind whistled deafeningly in his ears, and he squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face into Haldir's chest as another pitiful whimper escaped him. Their speed increased at the sound, but the wind became muffled through Haldir's soft closing.

"Legolas! Stay with me, son of Thranduill! He heard the March warden's urgent voice call him, but the harsh snapping of a twig brought only another moan from his lips. The bonfire was growing, and trolls were joining the victory dance.

They were ascending again, but now other elven murmurs drifted past, and suddenly they were in a room.

"Set him here, Haldir." A velvet voice rang through the air like a chime, dispelling all other sounds with its beauty.

He felt Haldir set him down on a soft bed, lain down as gently as a priceless ornament. Soft hands carefully stripped him of his tunic and unwrapped the bandages, leaving him bare from the waist up; a fair voice cursed swiftly and ugly.

"Forgive me, my lady." Haldir apologised immediately, his words relieving Legolas. '_My lady'_, the elven prince thought, _Lady Galadriel._

He hissed in pain as the same soft hands probed the wound, but the velvet voice came again, calming him from the pain.

"Sleep, _tithen_ greenleaf." It soothed him, lulling him as a single, soft hand smoothed his fevered brow. "You are safe now." //little//

He let the hand soothe him, and willingly, the comforting dark take him.

* * *

Night had fallen by the time they reached their destination, but even so, the moon shone bright, and scattered lamps lit the platform. Frodo was sure he could see a faint glow emitted from the elves themselves, enhancing the image of their otherworld aura. Pippin yawned next to him, his small legs dangling from the platform as he gazed around boredly.

"What's happening?" The young hobbit asked his fellow kin after a moment, but was interrupted when another elf bounded lightly up the stairs and onto the platform, and their attention was averted to the stern elf from before.

"I am Haldir, March warden of Lothlórien." He introduced himself in the same curt manner, running his grey eyes over the seven.

"I am Aragorn-" The ranger started.

"-Son of Arathorn." Haldir finished for him. "Yes, we know of both you and the fellowship of the-"

"Is Legolas okay?" Pippin interrupted, earning a glare from his cousin, but the March warden merely considered him for a moment before answering.

"Legolas Thranduillion is being tended to by Lady Galadriel herself. He shall recover soon." He replied. "In the meantime, you have been granted stay in Lothlórien. We will take you to Caras Galadhon, from there the Lady Galdariel shall decide your fate."

"The fellowship lies in your debt." Aragorn thanked softly, inclining his head.

Haldir did the same, before turning and swiftly leading them on. This time they threw caution to the wind, and admired the forest around them as they walked, suddenly no longer tired. It was as if the trees lent them the will, as if the beauty gave them strength.

"Do you think Legolas really will be alright?" Pippin whispered as they walked.

"Of course he will, Pip." Merry whispered in reply, "If Master elf says so, then he is."

"But… it was my fault wasn't it?" Pippin said glumly, looking down at his feet. "I fell into him."

"No, Master Peregrin." Gimli's rumbling voice spoke up behind him. "The ground was wet. It was by no fault of yours that you slipped, and so it was by no fault of yours that it happened to be Master elf whom you slipped into."

"And perhaps you did a good thing by that, dear Pippin." Boromir said over his shoulder to them. "It would have been worse had Legolas collapsed while we were in a more dangerous position. Say, a hill?"

Pippin's mouth opened into an 'o' and he nodded, apparently satisfied with the reply as he cautiously touched a nearby flower with his finger. A grin appeared on his face as the flower opened to reveal further colours in its bud, and the sight lightened Frodo's heart. Pippin had found his merriment again.  
The silence, though companionable, was long, as they felt words would only ruin the unexplainable beauty that was Lothlórien. It wasn't long before they finally arrived at their destination, and Haldir stood proudly on the hill, gesturing to the sunset lit forest beneath them.

"Caras Galadhon. The heart of Elvendom on earth." They gazed in wonder, drinking in his words. "Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light." He finished, before leading them down a winding path, outlined by almost unnaturally green shrubs of all different types; Sam's boggled eyes threatened to drop out as they passed. The winding path finally led them to ladders, stairs, platforms, and trees so tall and thick, you couldn't even begin to fathom seeing the tops. Sam was under further risk of going bind.

" You may all regain your strength and health before having audience with Lady Galadriel." Haldir told them, his words more of a command than an offer. "Fresh clothes have been laid for you."

And with that Haldir disappeared, leaving the fellowship to be led to the base of one of the giant trees, where clothes, much like their own, were indeed waiting for them. They gladly slipped into them, but not before washing to the possible extent, with water brought to them. Much to the hobbit's delight, the water was closely followed by food, and a lot of it: ranging from fruit; vegetables; mushrooms; meat, and even red wine.  
They made very short work of it, in absolutely no time at all, and the seven lay back for a respite with stomachs fit to burst. They couldn't believe their sudden fortune, but were trying very hard when Pippin's voice suddenly piped up once more.

"Do you think Legolas will really be alright?" The six others audibly groaned in defeat.

* * *

_Legolas felt the wind whip through his hair, and spread out his small arms, smiling happily as it licked his face and lifted his blond hair._

"_Legolas? What are you doing, _tithen draug_?" A soft, musical voice called out from behind, and he turned, jumping playfully onto his mother with a wolfish howl. //_little wolf_//_

_The elven queen laughed as she caught him, swinging around and up into her arms. He giggled as she tweaked his small nose and settled down on a blanket lain on the grass, where a woven basket sat, opened to reveal the delicious view of fruit, bread and- for the queen- wine._

"_Open wide, _nana_." The little prince ordered his mother, and popped a grape into her mouth with his little fingers, giggling again when she nipped at them. //_mummy_//_

_With a happy sigh he allowed his mother to bring a grape to his own mouth, only to have it teasingly pulled away at the last moment, leaving him to bite a mouth of air. _

"_Hey!" He chased her hand as her joyous laughter warmed his heart, until he caught it and pulled the grape from her fingers with his teeth._

"_You've beaten me, Legolas _nîn_." His mother sighed dramatically, watching in amusement as he kept his hold on her hand, curiously spreading her fingers and entwining them with his own stubby digits. The soft wind caught his hair, identical in colour to hers, and he turned back to her, his cherubic features lit with joy. She lifted her free arm out as an invitation, and he gladly moved into her embrace, hugging her neck tightly as he rested his head on her shoulder. //_My Legolas_//_

_The elven queen smiled again, hugging him back as he idly played with her long hair, twirling it around his fingers. After a moment the young elfling yawned, before loosening his hold on her neck and slid down into her embrace as she cradled him close to her chest. Legolas' eyes were half-lidded, but he slowly traced the patterns on her dress with a finger._

"_Nana?" The young prince asked. His slurring voice was muffled slightly._

"_Yes, _mell nîn_?" His mother replied softly, looking down at him. //_my dear_//_

"_I'm tired, nana." He whispered. His finger stopped, but his small hand rested against her chest. _

"_Then sleep." She murmured, smoothing his long hair as she began to slowly rock, singing a soft lullaby to her son._

"_Will you be here when I wake?" He enquired sleepily, his eyes gradually losing their focus. _

"_Always" She whispered back, expertly threading the word into the lullaby as the prince's cobalt eyes glazed into sweet elven dreams. With another soft smile she placed a lingering kiss on her son's sleeping brow._

_But when Legolas woke, he lay only on the blanket. He sat up, looking around wildly, but his eyes met only a cold mist._

"_Nana?" He asked into the mist, shuddering when the wind bit his bones. A soft figure formed in the mist, a mere shadow as it silhouetted in the grey._

"_Nana?" He called again. The figure slowly began to turn. He gasped in horror and stepped back, stumbling and falling ungracefully onto his rear as his foot met the basket. Red eyes bore into him. _

"_Nana???" The prince cried fearfully, his voice rising in pitch as hysteria took him, and tears threatened to spill._

"_Legolas!" A familiar yell was thrown back at him, and he spun dumbly, trying to seek out the voice of his mother. "Noro!" //run!//_

_But he couldn't move: fear froze him to the spot. The tears flowed freely now, running down his face as he tried to back away from the figure, still on the ground._

"_Nana!" He sobbed, his face contorted in terror._

_A cackling filled his ears, and a single scream pierced through the mist. _

*

"Naneth!" Legolas bolted upright in the bed, gasping for breath as sweat poured from him in torrents.

"Shhh. Calm, little Greenleaf." A soft voice soothed him, and he felt fair hands gently push him down, cold against his skin. Where was his tunic? He looked down to see only the white bandages wound around his waist. He allowed the hands to push him down, gratefully sinking back into the pillows, his breathing still ragged.

"Calm, Greenleaf." The voice repeated. "Breathe with me. Calm." The hands took one of his, and held it comfortingly as Legolas closed his eyes and concentrated on steadying his gasps, listening carefully to the barely existence, steady breathing next to him. It took longer than his pride could allow, but eventually his breathing slowed, and though not as calm as that of the soft voice, was controlled. A thumb patiently stroked his hand as he finally opened his eyes, surprised by what he saw. Lady Galdriel sat next to his bed, her beauty hooded in the shadows of the twilight.

"My lady?" He whispered, his voice hoarse and rough.

"Yes, Legolas Thranduillion." She replied with a soft smile, letting go of his hand to soak a cloth in a bowl of water. "It is I." He opened his mouth to say more, but she shushed him, using the wet cloth to cool his face, wiping away the sweat.  
"Do not speak, young prince." She ordered carefully, "You must rest, for rest is what is needed."

"But-" He started uselessly, only to have her shush him again.

"Your companions are safe." She told him, moving the cloth down to his neck. "I shall be meeting them, after they are fed and well rested."  
Legolas simply nodded in response, letting the cloth soothe him, and succumbed to an easier sleep.

* * *

The seven stood uneasily, fidgeting relentlessly as they anxiously awaited the lady Galadariel. Next to Frodo, Pippin was the worst of them, every now and then repeating the same question.

"When are they coming?" Pippin enquired for the nth time, and Frodo was forced to take calming breaths as Sam answered.

"Soon," The gardener whispered back, finally losing what little patience he'd kept. "And if you ask _one_ more time, Mr Pippin, I don't know what I'll do." He successfully managed to suppress another question, but Pippin only lasted another moment.

"…I was merely enquiring…" Pippin muttered, but before Sam could grab his saucepan, two glowing figures seemed to materialise onto the steps.

Even the dwarven member of their company allowed his jaw to drop as two heavenly elves glided down, one a male, and the other a female of _such _beauty, that Frodo's heart threatened to leap into his mouth. They stood at the last step and regarded them silently, every bit as proud as elves should be.

"The enemy knows you have entered here." The male started, his voice rich and powerful as he gazed sullenly. "What hope you had in secrecy is now gone… Seven there are here, yet nine there were set out from Rivendell." His eyes narrowed as he examined each of them closely. "The son of Thranduillion, I know, has been accounted for, but tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him… I can no longer see him from afar."

The hobbit's heads bowed, and even Aragorn could not bring himself to speak up, but a softer, mesmerising voice spoke.

"Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land." Lady Galadriel murmured, her voice almost a whisper. "He has fallen into shadow…"

Aragorn's eyes bore anguish as he met the eyes of the Lady of Light, and Lord Celeborn's head tuned to her, his grey eyes shocked.

"He was taken by both shadow and flame." Aragorn finally summoned the courage to say, his words heavy. "A Balrog of Morgoth."

"For we went needlessly into the net of Moria." Gimli finished gravely, receiving stares from the hobbits. Rarely- _never_ –did the dwarf speak ill of anything to do with his kin.

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life." Lady Galadriel corrected him softly. "We do not yet know his full purpose.

Frodo's mind widened at the words, and a small flicker of hope was ignited in him. Surely of such a lady of power dismissed the seeming doom of the fellowship, all was not lost? The hope was replaced with an odd prickling sensation, and he was soon to realise Lady Galadriel's gaze rested on him- or rather, _through_ him. It felt as if she could see down to the depths of his mind, and sort out his bad thoughts from his good. He felt naked before him, and strangely, it was a feeling he cared for not. He was aware she was still speaking, but slowly his hearing diminished, and all that was left was a sole whisper.

_Welcome, Frodo of the shire, _It spoke, _one who has seen the eye! _

_

* * *

  
_

Legolas stood at the window, his loose tunic lifting slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded the golden wood silently. Behind, he could hear the soft sound of fabric on fabric, and mentally noted the lack of footsteps.

"Are you well rested, young prince?" Came the expectedly musical voice.

"Very much so, I thank you." He replied softly, staying to face the window.

"You have not asked after your companions," The Lady of Light continued. "So I presume you have already been informed of their well being… Haldir?"

"He was here when I awoke." He replied, still staying in his position, not turning to face her.

A butterfly passed by, easily the size of his hand, and he watched as it went on its way, turning and looping as its colourful wings fluttered rhythmically. He wondered how easy it must be, to be such a small, yet infinitely magnificent creature. It looked to be impossibly carefree, floating lightly in the air, and Legolas found himself wishing that he and it could trade roles. Oh, how he'd long to live without hurt, worry or anxious fear. But the life of a butterfly was cursed with short mortality, and surely they spent what little time they had thinking of their remaining time? A week? Two? Maybe that was what made their life all the more beautiful: to savour and appreciate all miniscule aspects in life: to love all, and see all.

Mirkwood had no butterflies, only poisonous spiders.

"Unasked questions only lie restlessly." The voice came again. "Speak what is in your mind, _tithen las_." //little leaf//

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment. She already knew his question, so why must she ask, and put him through this? With a sigh, he slowly unfurled his arms and turned to face her.

"Haldir hid his troubled this morning, but only transparently." He began, meeting her piercing eyes. "I'm not the wisest of elves, certainly not." He hesitated slightly, his eyes wavering from hers. "I wish to know the extent of my injury."

She was silent for a moment, merely contemplating him with her eyes of stone. He lowered his own, finding interest in the ground."

"The poison is one that even _I_ have never had the misfortune to come across." She finally stated. "It coursed through your veins and blood like a flood, inflicting everything in its path. However, your elven blood caused a riddle of its intentions, and you were spared a whole phase of pain. Your death was brought closer, and you would have perished had Haldir not gotten you to me in time."

He raised his head slightly, leaning heavily against the bedside table.

"We could not rid the poison, it taints your blood even now." Legolas closed his eyes as she continued. "But the effects are slowed." For a moment he remained as he was, drinking in what she's said with his head bowed.

"How long?" He whispered eventually.

"A year at most." She replied serenely.

"And the pain of the end?"

"I'm afraid, young prince, it is not the end that shall be painful for you." She paused, and reached out a slender hand to lift his chin, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "The effects shall eventually become inevitable, but with will, you can delay. Keep your heart full, Legolas, and the pain and suffering shall be held back. Anguish and despair will only worsen you."

She kept his gaze for a moment longer, before withdrawing her hand, and standing at her full height in front of him.

"Another decision must be made." She continued softly. " Will you go back to Mirkwood, young prince, and live out your days in the midst of your people?"

Legolas stood fully, meeting her gaze with level.

"Nay, I would rather see this through… to the end."

* * *

That was slightly cliché, sorry about that... I think I've fallen in love with fluffy fics involving a ickle Legolas, and either his mother or father, or even both! They make me smile :)) I also think Eowyn and Legolas go well together, so if anyone has any suggestions for good ickle Legolas, or Legowyn fics, please tell me! Thank you for taking the time to read, and yes, I know that this was split up into a lot of different sections of Legolas and Frodo views, sorry if you didn't like that. Don't forget to review!


	5. Soft Repose and Bliss

**A/N:** Okay, chapter five. It's not as good as the others, and I don't think, as long, but oh well. I put a childish game inside, which I'm sure you will all know, and I think in conclusion this chapter is considerably light-hearted compared to the others. I did a oneshot in the spare time around this chapter- which is a lot of time, considering I usually write in the afternoons and evenings- called To Carry You Home, did it pretty quickly, because sadly the muse couldn't fit in this fic :( (and yes, that was shameful advertising) Also, I know that some authors put a little response to each reviews in their chapters, right? In my opinion, its no point, because I think I'll just say "**I love all you lovely people for reviewing!"** (seriously, I doooo) However, if someone asks a question, or there is a particular review I'd like to reply or whatever, I'll do it, so:  
**SormustenHerra:** He doesn't have exactly a year to live, but a year at the absolute **most.** Pretty dramatic huh? And yep, this story will span throughout **all** of the trilogy, and I guess a minuscule bit of post-RotK  
**Triolet:** I think that Eowyn and Legolas are probably better as friends, but oneshots of them together are what I love :) And I share your view completely, where did the singing go??? I think I'll have a singing sort of Legolas here, though I only had him humming in this chapter...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters, creatures, settings, names **or** song in this fic.

* * *

**Starcrossed  
**Soft Repose and Bliss

It had been nigh on four days since they'd first stumbled into Lothlórien, and the constant lack of Legolas had again brought on Pippin's incessant, and repeated, questions.

"Where is Legolas? When is he coming?" The young would ask nobody in particular, even bothering startled elves as they passed about their business. "Is he okay?"

It had gotten to a point when even Aragorn became irked, and had threatened him, using the hobbit's pipe and the nearby lake as leverage. Pippin had turned a pallid white, and nodded his head with such intensity, that it threatened to fall from his neck and roll away; a mere hour later he asked yet another question. Aragorn resisted the urge to sing when the elf finally did appear: Pippin, of course, had been the first to catch sight of Legolas, humming as he made his way down stairs and towards them. The elven archer had barely the chance to descend from the last step when the young hobbit yelped out.

"Legolas!" He cried happily, and within seconds all hobbits had pounced onto the startled elf, enveloping him in a colossal hug; even Sam had shyly wrapped his arms around Legolas' waist with a muffled "Glad you're okay, Mr Legolas."

"Thank you, Master Sam, as am I." Legolas replied, smiling down at the gardener as he patted him on the back. Gimli and Boromir both laughed in amusement, where as Aragorn merely stood and smiled.

"Come now, Hobbits." He chided kindly, "I doubt if Legolas can even breathe."

Each hobbit turned their own personal shade of red, but released Legolas and went back to their spot, and more importantly, dinner. Legolas shot him a thankful look as the two sidled towards each other, a gleam in each of their eye.

"You look… better." Aragorn commented as he grasped the elf's shoulder.

"I'm afraid I cannot say the same for you, _Mellon nîn_." Legolas replied seriously, screwing up his nose and sniffing the air cautiously. "What _is_ that smell?"

Aragorn raised his eyebrows in mock shock before replying in defence, "It would please you to know that I have, in fact, washed."

"Ah, it must be Master Dwarf, then." Legolas speculated mischievously, ducking a stray, flying stone as the dwarf's indignant guffaw sounded from the side.

"Have you eaten?" Aragorn enquired, noting the elf's paleness with distain.

"I'm an elf, Estel, we do not need to eat so often." Legolas reminded him smugly, but nevertheless added, "Yes, I have."

Aragorn laughed at his friend's stubbornness: stiff were the neck of elves. He meant to say more, but a sudden, sweet, elven melody reached his ears, floating down lightly from the trees, and drifting in the wind. Enchanted, he looked up to see rows of glowing elves; their white dresses illuminated against the trees as they sang mournfully down to the puzzled fellowship.

"_In gwidh ristennin,_

_I fae narchannen_

_I lach anor ed ardhon gwannen"_

"A lament for Gandalf…" Legolas murmured softly, his voice barely more than a whisper as he turned from the trees, looking instead at the ground.

"What do they say?" Sam enquired curiously, slowly rotating on the spot as he gazed up at the singers.

"I cannot say." Legolas replied quietly. "For me the grief is too near."

"_Mithrandir, Mithrandir! A Randir Vithren!_

_Ú-reniathach I amar galen_"

Aragorn felt his brow crease as he carefully watched the elven archer. Legolas had stiffened, and yet his shoulders slumped, as he seemed to prefer the green ground to the glowing singers.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked quietly, concerned.

The elf looked up at the sound of his name, as if waking from a dream, and the ranger almost gasped at the expression plaguing the youthful face. Never had he seen such a look of anguish, or hurt, or even anxiety, and he wished he never would again. The beauty of the Eldar should never be tainted with such emotions, or the feeling of hopelessness that seemed to wash through his elven friend. He'd seen the grief of the hobbits, and even of Gimli and Boromir, but why did his elven friend despair so? And what was that hidden look of… guilt? The emotion baffled Aragorn. For what reason did the elf feel guilt? He wanted to badly to hug his friend, to smooth his worries, but he felt reluctant to hurt the elf's pride, certainly not after what he'd already been through… _in the rain_…

"_I reniad lín ne môr, nuithannen…_"

Legolas noticed him waver, and immediately smoothed the anguish from his face, replacing the emotion explosion with a sad merriment.

"Is something wrong, Estel?" He enquired innocently, a soft smile beginning to work on his lips.

_Typical, stubborn elf,_ Aragorn thought to himself, but forced his own smile. "Nay, 'tis nothing."

Legolas quirked an eyebrow, but let the matter lie as he crossed over the grass and settled down cross-legged next to Boromir and Gimli, the latter of whom lay down on his side under a blanket. The melody slowly diminished, and the elves left only the rustling of the trees and they took their silent leave. Aragorn saw Legolas cock his head as the song of a bird rang out, while Boromir shifted restlessly next to him. Again, Legolas quirked an eyebrow at the Gondorian, but said nothing when Boromir responded with a small smile. It was clear the Gondorian was uneasy, but as always he decided to keep the thoughts to himself. Aragorn was almost beginning to find a trace of similarity between the elven prince, and the son of the Steward. He chuckled aloud at the thought, receiving apprehensive, curious frowns from his companions.

"Some say that laughing without cause is a sign of madness, Estel." Legolas piped up from his seat, drawing a laugh from all except Aragorn.

"He may already be there, Legolas." Frodo's voice laughed from his sleeping mat, and the laughs doubled.

Aragorn narrowed his eyes at the two, but said nothing. If anything, he welcomed their teasing. Valar knows they needed the mirth. Gandalf's death had burdened them all heavily, and Aragorn suppressed another chuckle at the elf's cunning: he was glad Legolas was back.

* * *

He didn't know why, but suddenly Samwise Gamgee found himself awake, and in the middle of the night. Typical that he should be restless when these were the best nights he could have to sleep. He grumbled incoherently to himself as he shifted under his blanket, struggling to become comfortable despite the many mats he lay on. This was useless; he didn't even know why he'd woken in the first place. A muffled sound in the distance caught his attention. Ah, that was it. He frowned to himself, rising to his elbows as he peered through the soft dark. It was only an elf surely, for they were in Elvendom. The noise came again, but this time followed by a faint splash. His frowned deepened and he got to his feet, padding his way across the dew-covered grass and around his sleeping companions. What would his Gaffer have to say about this? His son, Samwise Gamgee, was treading through an elven forest to find the mysterious source of nothing more than a rustle and a splash. He chuckled darkly to himself: he missed his Gaffer.

Pushing aside the sentimental thoughts, he slowed as the leaves and branches began to thin, and crouched in the shadows as he peered out.

It was not the biggest lake he'd ever seen, more the size of a rather large pond, but it was by far the most beautiful. The soft waters were a clear, luminous teal under the half-light of lamps, and yet it seemed to glow of its own accord.

Small, rounded pebbles surrounded it magnificently, sloping down and disappearing altogether as the water deepened, and the lake was calm but for a single ripple disturbing the surface as it began to slowly widen. Alone, glowing figure stood watching atop the pebbles.

_Legolas_, Sam recognised the slim, blond elf immediately, which was a wonder considering the amount of blond elves in Lothlórien. He wondered whether he should join the archer, or simply retreat back to the company, but curiosity kept him rooted to the spot, watching his elven companion.

Legolas stood completely motionless as he watched the ripple, but then- quicker than Sam's eyes could follow- he drew a slender arm back and deftly threw another pebble into the deep pool of beauty. A second ripple elegantly joined the first, but this time the archer did not watch, bowing his head as he thoughtfully turned a third pebble in his hand. Without warning he drew back his arm and threw again, but stooped and launched one after the other in rapid succession. His desperate throws were no longer smooth and practised, and as the gardener hobbit watched, the elf slammed the last rock down with all his might, into the water. It created a deep 'splosh', and a small burst of water, where it landed barely a few feet from where he stood.

Sam counted the ripples: twelve- twelve stones thrown in the space of less than three seconds. He frowned and turned back to look at the elf, who now stood with his head bowed to his chest and eyes closed as he took calming breaths, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Sam began to feel as if he was intruding; of course he was. Silly, really, that he'd come out here anyway. Cautiously, he retreated backwards, manoeuvring his foot away from a twig… only to step on another. He winced at the snap, cursing mentally to himself as he turned back to Legolas.

Legolas' head snapped up at the sound, and his piercing eyes expertly sought out the leaves Sam hid behind.

"Who is it?" The elf called sharply; Sam flinched at the harsh tone. "Show yourself!"

Sam hesitated for a short second, but took a deep breath as he replied, stepping into the half-light. " 'S only me, Mr Legolas." He reassured apologetically. "Sorry."

Legolas' face softened as his pale blue eyes fell on the hobbit, and the elf smiled.

"Does sleep elude you, Sam?" He asked kindly, turning away from the water to face the hobbit.

"No…" Sam replied unsurely, hesitantly making his way over the pebbles towards to archer. "Thought I heard a noise."

"Ah, that would be me." Legolas confessed. "My apologies."

Sam just smiled in reply as he reached Legolas, and together, the two silently gazed out at the lake. "Are you okay, Mr Legolas?" Sam enquired innocently, looking sideways at the tall companion, who in turn cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Why do you ask?" He replied curiously, and Sam frowned deeply at him. Surely it was obvious? Legolas laughed at his expression, and the light, melodic sound warmed Sam's heart. "I assure you, Sam, I am quite well now."

Sam grinned back at him, before gazing out thoughtfully into the deep. It seemed to swirl now, mesmerizing as its glow brightened, and a memory slowly emerged from the reflections, taunting the fixed hobbit.

…_Retches cursed the air… an elf's body threatened to snap as he heaved…a shuddering figure wept in another's embrace…_

"May I ask the same question?" Legolas' voice broke through the horrid images, and he turned to see the elf looking worriedly down at him. The archer was worried for _him_???

Sudden tears sprang forth in the hobbits eyes, and he was helpless to halt them as they flowed down his cheeks. He all but threw himself onto a startled Legolas, flinging his arms around the elf's waist as he hugged him in a crushing hold. For a short moment Legolas' body was stiff- clearly he'd surprised the elf- but then he softened, and Sam felt Legolas soothingly rub his back as he cried.

"I really am glad you're okay, Mr Legolas." He sobbed into the elf, his voice muffled by Legolas' clothing. "I-it… It's just, with Mr Gandalf an' all." At this the hobbit sobbed harder and tightened his grip, almost protectively, around the elf, pressing his face into the soft clothes. "Couldn't bear it an-and in the r-rain… I was so scared, Mr Legolas- we all were!" He continued sobbing as the elf warmly hugged him back.

"Perhaps, Sam… If I could breathe…" Came the strained voice from above him, and Sam realised with a blush how tightly he'd embraced the elf. He loosened his grip on the elf, but maintained the hold, as Legolas let out the single breath he'd been denied by the crushing hug. He felt Legolas' hand cup his chin and guide his eyes to meet the elf's own cobalt ones, bright yet understanding. "I am here am I not?" Sam nodded tearfully, "And I appear fine and healthy do I not?" Sam hesitated slightly, but nodded when he realised that the elf did indeed look far better.

"Then why worry? What is past is past. Would Gandalf wish for you to suffer so?" Sam shook his head at Legolas' soft questions. "Remember, Sam, your friends are with you. Take _strength_ from the knowledge that you are loved."

Sam nodded silently, stiffening his upper lip as he wiped the tears from his face with one hand, smiling gratefully up at the elf. Legolas smiled back, but after a moment his pale eyes flickered above Sam's head and he chuckled.

"And so arrives the mother of the pack…" He muttered, receiving a puzzled look from Sam, as the hobbit finally released his hold on Legolas and turned to where the elf's eyes rested. There was a soft rustle, and Aragorn came into view, his hand rubbing one temple as he blinked at them.

"I heard voices…" He stated meaningfully, but the slight slur of his voice, and the yawn that punctuated the sentence, affected the serious meaning.

"Yes, it was Sam and I." Legolas replied lightly. "I was just showing him the lake."

The ranger blinked again, his scrutinizing gaze stopping to nestle on the tear-stained, wet patch on Legolas' clothes.

"You are wet." He said, his tone accusing as he raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, my hands were wet." Legolas countered easily, theatrically miming wiping his hands dry on his clothes.

Aragorn gazed at them silently, frowning as Sam bit into his knuckle to stifle a laugh, but after a moment he sighed in defeat, and shook his head to himself.

"Very well…" He said wearily, before turning to stagger sleepily back to his sleeping mat.

Sam smiled at Legolas, and the elf flashed him a grin, winking mischievously.

* * *

When Aragorn woke the next morning he had the rare honour of seeing all eight of his companions up before him, and already sharing conversation from their sleeping mats.

"Aragorn!" Pippin suddenly announced, and it took the ranger a moment to realise that the hobbit had not been addressing him. "That was easy. Okay, okay, my turn!" Pippin frowned thoughtfully, chewing at his top lip as he scanned the area. "I spy with my little eye, something beginning with…A!"

Aragorn almost laughed at the innocent game the fellowship played, even the seasoned warrior, Boromir.

"Apple." The Gondorian stated, pointing to the pile of small, red fruit at his feet, but Pippin only shook his head, giggling.

"You're going to have to do better than that, Boromir!" He exclaimed, smiling in delight as he watched the others fumble for the answer.

"I have it!" A musical voice announced proudly from above, and Aragorn looked up to see Legolas perched on a tree branch, his back against the trunk as one leg lazily dangled down. He idly crossed his arms, an apple in his hand- ruby red, but for the single bite taken from it – and grinned happily down at Pippin.

"Axe!" He said clearly, nodding toward Gimli's weapon, and Pippin threw up his hands in defeat.

"Your turn Legolas!" Merry laughed as the elf thought, swinging his dangling leg as he did.

"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with…" the elf's eyes glittered as he found a suitable word. "_N_"

There was a short silence as they thought, and Aragorn could even see Sam's lips tracing possible answers.

"Night- Oh, wait…" Pippin frowned as he realised it was far from nightfall.

"Perhaps…" Gimli rumbled. "Neck? There are nine here."

Legolas' grin only widened at the words, and he shook his head.

"How about necklace?" Sam suggested hopefully, "Aragorn wears one." Aragorn blushed furiously as Legolas, Gimli and Boromir roared with laughter.

"Not quite, I'm afraid, Sam." Legolas chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes. "Though it is a rather pretty necklace, is it not?"

"Maybe the word we seek is 'numskull'" Aragorn shot back. "For there is one perched in a tree at present."

This time all companions laughed, as Aragorn dodged- albeit barely –the ruby apple thrown at him from the tree.

"I think I may have foiled your plan, Legolas." Frodo announced triumphantly as the laughter died down. "Nature!"

"Ah, it was indeed, Frodo." Legolas admitted, ceasing his glare at Aragorn to smile at the hobbit.

"Well done, Frodo." Merry cheered, and the ringbearer mock-bowed. The mirth in the hobbit's eye pleased Aragorn; it was the happiest he'd seen Frodo since they'd set out from Rivendell, but he sighed to himself, sad that he had to cut break the merriment.

"Come now." He said, and noted with pride as each face immediately focused intensely on him. "We must prepare: we leave the moment we are ready."

The faces fell at the thought of ending the soft repose, and their bliss, but they knew their duties came above all, and began slowly packing away their things: Aragorn was forced to keep a weary eye on Pippin as the young hobbit announced he would pack the food.

Haldir, somewhat kinder than before, and a few others arrived as they were shouldering their packs, leading them to the river when they were done.

The trees shed their leaves as they walked, and it seemed as though the trees were saddened at their leave. Next to Aragorn, Legolas was watching the leaves wistfully, but when the ranger nudged him, he'd only smirked and shook his head. Aragorn frowned but said nothing, as now the trees began to thin, and the grassy shores were spotted. They halted, in front of the Lady of Light, standing in a line as she presented each of them with elven gifts: at the far end, Aragorn could see the awe on the faces of Merry and Pippin as she presented them with small daggers. His smile turned into a frown when he saw that Legolas had, once again, the far away look in his eye, but before he could elbow his friend in the ribs, Galadriel reached them.

"My gift for you, Legolas, is a bow of the Galadhrim," She said softly, smiling as he ran his hands over the carvings in wonder. "Worthy of the skill of our woodland kin."

Legolas lowered the bow, and something odd passed between him and the lady of light, something that puzzled Aragorn: something hidden with the inclination of Legolas' head.

"I have nothing greater to give," Her melodic voice snapped him from his thoughts as she stopped in front of him, tracing the Evenstar lightly with her fingers. "Than the gift you already bear. For her love, I fear the grace of Arwen Evenstar will diminish…"

Aragorn met her eyes with sadness, and he replied in the same, soft voice.

"I would have her leave these shores and be with her people," He admitted quietly. "I would have her take the ship to Valinor."

"The choice is yet before her. You have your own choice to make Aragorn." Her voice grew stronger, as if to stress the power of her words. "To rise above the height of all your fathers since the days of Elendil… or to fall into darkness with all that is left of your kin." Her face softened as she gazed at him with sorrow. "_Namárie_**" //**Farewell//

Aragorn smiled, slowly bowing his head, but her hand caught his chin and cupped his cheek softly. "There is much you have yet to do. We shall not meet again… Elessar."

Legolas and the others were stood waiting him by the boats when he arrived, and each rose as he stopped before them.

"Ready?" He asked his friends, and seven heads nodded in unison. He smiled and motioned for them to board the boats, taking his place behind Frodo and Sam in one. Sam lent forward and whispered something into Frodo's ear, and Merry and Pippin giggle, and Aragorn suddenly realised with a grin that Legolas was boating with Gimli. It was an unexpected turn of things, but a welcome, and fortunate one at that. He slyly sent Legolas a puzzled look as all three boats began to cut elegantly through the waters, gliding with ease, but the elf only grinned back at him, and resumed rowing.

A single flash of white shone form the trees, and Aragorn noticed Lady Galadriel standing among the shrubbery, watching them silently. She raised one, pale hand in farewell, her face devoid of emotion.

Ahead, Aragorn saw Legolas glance at her, but look quickly away, a frown troubling his brow as he stared ahead, and into the distance.

* * *

**A/N:** The Lament for Gandalf is not mine, the lyrics are apparently the real ones, as I got them from the lyric website for the film soundtrack, and the translation is thus:

The bonds cut,  
The spirit broken  
The Flame of Anor has left this World  
Mithrandir, Mithrandir, O Pilgrim Grey!  
No more you will wander the Orange world  
Your journey has ended in darkness.

Till next time!


	6. Haunting Whispers and Shadows

**A/N:** Right, sorry that my updates are usually once a week, and that this took slightly more than one week. I've had trouble with homework, detentions, parents and football, so forgive me... Oh, and bad news for you, dear readers. This friday I am going on holiday to Florida for two weeks, which means that after thursday, there will be no updates for two weeks. **but** I shall try, try, try my absolute hardest to get another chapter posted by thursday, and considering the lengthy flight I'm sure I'll have done many chapters by the time I come back :) This chapter is my shortest so far, by the way, and thats because I wanted a cliff so yeah... as always I shall say a bit THANK YOU for your support and reviews, You're all very lovely jubbly people. To **purple kimono** I shall say, thanks for the profile/bio thingy correction, I shall correct it, and I love your name too! oh and to **Feste the fool** I shall say Haha! *taps side of nose* :)) Read on...

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own it

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**  
Starcrossed  
**Haunting Whispers and Shadows

He could see her pale face; so infinitely beautiful; so brilliantly golden; so delicately fair; so all-knowing… He ran out of words to describe her. Her very aura _bled_ power, he wondered how the other elves could resist it; a temptation so giant, so plain, and so alluri- His musings were suddenly broken, and a heavy sigh of defeat escaped his lips.

The elf was singing again.

He should've known this would be his reward for boating with an elf. He doubted if the others could even hear the musical lull, for the fair archer seemed to sing softly to himself, rather than for the entertainment of others- as he'd done many a time- and seemed too deep in thought to realise what he was doing.

"Master Elf," Gimli caught Legolas' attention, and the singing halted behind him. "May I ask a question?"

"You may ask." The elf replied lightly, his voice tinged with mirth as the dwarf looked back and found him to be grinning, his fair features lit.

"Must you sing for every second of this journey?" Gimli enquired, trying dismally to keep irritation from his voice. To his surprise, Legolas' demeanour remained cheerful.

"Do you find my singing displeases you?" Legolas replied innocently, gracefully steering them from a tangle of weed.

"Nay, Laddie." Gimli denied lamely. "More the fact that there hasn't been an empty moment on this boat."

"Ah." Legolas nodded, as if he understood, but the dwarf could detect barely contained laughter. "I interrupt your thoughts… Have no worry, Gimli: I shall stop."

Gimli nodded gruffly, turning back to the river ahead as his thought drifted again to the Lady of Light. Where was he? Oh yes- so alluring and contagious… He could see her golden head now, shining brightly in the suns rays as her pale hand reached up, and pulled on three golden-

Gimli stifled a groan. The elf was humming.

Alas, if the archer could not be stopped, he would just have to sit and bear it, and thank the Valar that the elf had a beautiful voice.

"Legolas?" A small voice enquired, and the elf turned his head to look inquisitively at Pippin. "Do all elves know how to sing? –Beautifully I mean."

Even Boromir smiled at the question, but Gimli forced the smile from his own face as the elf grinned at the compliment.

"We sing only as well as our company think it so." Legolas replied modestly, before asking a question of his own. "Do all hobbits sing beautifully?"

Pippin frowned in thought; Gimli could practically see the hobbit's mind working, and it was a moment before the question was answered.

"I suppose the answer's the same as yours." Pippin answered truthfully with a small shrug, before turning his next question-victim. "Do you sing, Gimli?"

Gimli looked around to see the company's attention fixated on him, an eyebrow for each cocked in curiosity.

"We dwarves do sing, but not as others." Gimli replied slowly, chuckling. "Aye, when I'm at work I do often sing, albeit horribly to ears other than mine, no doubt."

The men chuckled with him, and the elf behind him grinned. The look in the archer's eye made Gimli sincerely hope he would not be asked to sing anytime on this quest: he'd certainly not been exaggerating by his words.

Pippin giggled, and his joyful and merry face would have had the whole fellowship grinning, had they not been startled by Pippin's next question.

"Boromir?" Pippin asked, turning to face the calmly rowing Gondorian, who cocked an eyebrow. "Can you sing?"

The question baffled them all, and Gimli choked back a roar of laughter as the Gondorian stared- shocked- at Pippin. Even Aragorn was failing miserably at stifling his grin.

"I, err, well…" Boromir fumbled. "Suffice it to say, Pippin, that the only time I sing is when I am, err, _inebriated_."

A few of the company chuckled along with the deep bass of Boromir, as the Gondorian's grey eyes twinkled mischievously. Pippin frowned slightly, and even from their boat, Gimli could see the hobbit mouthing the word 'inebriated' to himself. He finally allowed himself to chuckle quietly. The first part of their boating journey would certainly be long.

* * *

He could hear the whispers, edging through his mind, clawing at his attention. It made his skin crawl. _Boromir…_ He shuddered, but the hisses continued, spreading their villainous hate. _This is your desire…_ He shook his head firmly, straining to dispel the voice.

It poisoned them all, this he knew, but him more so… decidedly more so. Was it because he cared and loved his kingdom? _Boromir…_ Was it because he longed for its walls and people to be safe? _Boromir._ Was it because he was a good man? _BOROMIR!_

… Was it because he was weak?

No! He was Boromir, son of Denethor, and Captain of the white tower, protector of his people; he was not weak. _Let me in, Denethor son…_Despairing, perhaps…

The night folded its darkness about him, lulling him. He couldn't fall asleep; it was his watch! But the whispers intensified, gripping him; he could feel his resolve crumbling. _He sleeps, you can take what you want, Boromir. You hold your sword_- NO!

"Boromir:" A soft voice startled him, and the Gondorian realised he'd been gripping the blade of his dagger. He released it, watching in shock as blood slowly welled in the shallow cut.

Shaking himself, he looked over his shoulder, and saw that one companion was now sitting propped back on his elbows: cobalt eyes watched him with concern, the fair face half in shadow.

"Is something wrong?" Legolas enquired, just as softly as before, and a worried frown began to riddle his brow.

"N-no." Boromir was dismayed to find his voice shook, and coughed slightly before continuing in a steadier tone. "All is well."

For a short moment the elf regarded him silently, but nodded his head wearily and lay back down, pulling his blanket up as his eyes slowly glazed over. Boromir watched until he was completely sure that Legolas slept, before turning back to his bleeding hand. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to recollect his thoughts, and carefully wiped his hand free of blood. It was too shallow to bother wrapping and so he ignored it, glancing back at the fair archer.

He feared the elf saw right through his façade of hardened absolution. He feared the elf knew his weakness, for, of them all, Legolas' sight took him further than only appearance; it sometimes felt as if he could read your thoughts. He shuddered at the notion of Legolas knowing his deepest desires. Would he be confronted? Would the elf consider him to be nothing more than a weak, pathetic and broken man?

Of course not: Legolas never seemed to judge anyone, except the dwarf, and that had been at the beginning.

He only had to push away the tainted whispers, only had to resist. He concentrated on blocking his mind, creating a barrier against the ring. It was all in vain.

_Boromir…_

* * *

Legolas sighed to himself. Finally, they'd reached their destination- much to the relief of Samwise- a night after leaving Lothlórien, and now he watched the trees carefully, scrutinizing every leaf and branch, as behind him the others shifted restlessly, and Gimli started a fire.

"We cross the lake at nightfall," Aragorn was telling them, taking his pack from his boat. "Hide the boats and continue on foot… We approach Mordor from the north."

"Oh, yes?" A gruff voice cut in, sarcastic in tone. The hobbits and Aragorn turned to listen to the dwarf. "Just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil," Gimli shifted and his sarcasm deepened. "An impassable labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks."

Pippin paled visibly, and stopped chewing food as he gazed at the dwarf in disbelief.

"And after that, it gets even better!" Gimli continued, waving a stick in the air to emphasise his words. "Festering, stinking marshland as far as the eye can see!"

"That is our road." Aragorn replied simply and calmly, making no attempt to contradict the dwarf. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf."

"Recover my-" Gimli repeated in disbelief, flustering desperately to gather back his pride. Legolas ignored him, frowning and quickly turning to move towards Aragorn.

"We should leave now." He murmured hastily, but the ranger shook his head at the words.

"No." Aragorn replied dismissively, nodding towards the opposite bank. "Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for the cover of darkness."

"It is not the eastern shore that worries me." Legolas muttered under his breath, restlessly turning his gaze back to the woods. "A shadow and a threat has been growing on my mind. Something draws near…" He turned back to the ranger, holding his stormy eyes. "I can feel it."

The ranger adopted a grim look, as Merry returned with an armful of firewood, and Gimli continued flustering.

"Recover strength?" Gimli was repeating yet again, before turning to Pippin. "Pay no heed to that, young hobbit."

Merry wiped his hands absent-mindedly on his clothes, but suddenly his youthful features frowned, and he straightened abruptly, looking curiously around them.

"Where's Frodo?"

Sam darted up; suddenly alert as they all whipped around to the tree Frodo had been seated beneath, but were greeted with only Frodo's blanket.

"Estel." Legolas called urgently, pointing to where Boromir's shield lay, and the empty space where it's wielder didn't. Aragorn's eyes widened, and he sighed resignedly, before turning and sprinting through the woods.

"I must look for Frodo!" He called from over his shoulder, already disappearing through the shrubbery.

They watched his back for a moment, before turning to each other and raising eyebrows, echoing the man's sigh.

"Well, this is wonderful!" Gimli grumbled sarcastically, and Legolas smiled wryly, glancing towards the eastern shore wistfully before turning to his companions.

"I am sure there is nothing-" Legolas started, but something hit hard against his mind, and he spun to scan the trees. _Danger…_

"Mr Legolas?" Sam asked uncertainly, rising slowly from his seat on the ground.

Legolas didn't answer, keeping his eyes on the trees as he un-shouldered his bow and nocked an arrow.

"Gimli." He warned lowly, briefly meeting the dwarf's eyes with meaning.

The dwarf stiffened with understanding, extinguishing the fire with his drink as he turning to the halflings.

"Clear up, hobbits." He said as calmly as he was able. "Quickly now."

The hobbits appeared puzzled at the request, but did not have to be asked twice as they hastily began packing away.

"Leave them here." Legolas told them quickly, as they began hoisting the packs onto their backs. "Hide them under a bush."

The hobbits frowned, but stored the packs as Legolas turned his full attention on the woods. Now, he could clearly hear the thuds of feet, and the distant scraping of metal on metal: they were nearing.

"Hide!" Gimli ordered the hobbits at the elf's expression. "Now!"

The three scampered away, and from what Legolas knew from playing hiding games with them, he was sure that the hobbits would certainly remain hidden.

"Come, Gimli!" Legolas beckoned the dwarf as he set off, sprinting through the leaves and leaping over bushes. He could hear the clashes of dispute now, growing steadily louder, and louder, and louder. Quickening his pace, he dodged a stray branch, holding his bow at the ready, and with a deep breath, ran through the derelict, stone doorway.

Even alone the ranger fought like a lion, but a look of relief flitted over Aragorn's face as the bow of the Galadhrim sang, and three beasts were felled instantly.

"Aragorn!" Legolas yelled, needlessly assuring the ranger of his presence as merely a second later, Gimli charged in: axe swinging, and bellowing as he hefted his weapon to and fro.

Legolas allowed a small smile to grace his lips, ducking swiftly as a scimitar came his way, before thrusting an arrow forwards into the creature's gut. He frowned as the beast attempted a final swing before it fell: seconds too long. Somehow these beasts were drastically differed to their other foes. It was disdainfully obvious they were neither as small as orcs, nor as blindingly ugly as goblins. _Though ugly nevertheless_, Legolas thought grimly, using the same arrow to fell another.

Already, his quiver was beginning to empty, and he used the initiative to use the arrows sparingly, using the arrows as hand weapons before letting them fly, and even then only to kill the posing threats. Yet still it was not long before his hand gripped the shaft of his last, and so he waited a short moment, his cobalt eyes darting side to side: seeking a worthy victim. _Ah, Estel seems to be in a spot of bother. _Legolas pulled back and released, watching as the arrow pierced the beast's heart, killing it instantly and leaving the ranger holding a dead body.

Legolas sighed as he swiftly shouldered his bow, and drew both knives in the same, single, fluid movement. Continuing the move, he crossed and uncrossed both arms in a scissor cut, swiftly relieving a beast of its head. He took another step forward, spinning the knives like whirlwinds in his hands as he slashed one's chest, and turned to stab another. _Slash, slash, thrust, parry, duck, slash, shove! _ Four more fell from his blades, like puppets with cut strings.

He paused for a moment to scan the bodies, before bending and scooping up arrows as he ran past them, un-shouldering his bow once more. _One_: between the eyes, _two_: through the heart, _three_: through the neck, _four_: knee then heart, _five_: through the open, roaring mouth, out the back of its head and into the head of another.

He reached to nock another arrow, but a clear noise blared through the air, and he whipped towards the direction from which it came.

"The horn of Gondor!" He exclaimed worriedly, and felt Aragorn brush past him, already darting to the direction whilst hacking a path through the beasts. _He will be too late_, Legolas thought hopelessly, turning his attention back to his dwarven companion.

Gimli fought like a boar, roaring as he bore his axe down mercifully at the enemy: Legolas felt that the dwarf could look after himself. He pursed his lips for a moment, before nocking his last three arrows at once and unleashing them all. The three beasts closest to Gimli dropped like flies, dead before they'd even known what hit them. The dwarf spun around, nodding his thanks when he'd realised what had happened before jumping back into the fray. Legolas nodded back, turning and darting through the trees, cutting a different path to Aragorn.

Branches whipped at him as he flew through them, never once deterred or slowed as he ran heedless. He heard the horn once more, and applied a burst of speed as he finally glimpsed the mighty Gondorian through the trees.

Boromir fought not as a lion, not as a boar, but as a true Gondorian, and he did credit to his people as he fiercely protected the two little halflings behind him. _Ah, so they were found_, Legolas though grimly as he dodged a tree root, sticking up from the ground. More foul beasts spilled over the hills towards Boromir, snarling and waving their weapons, and yet… Legolas blinked. _Why does that beast not run as his kin?_

The beast of his thoughts walked slowly, as if he were superior to all, each step heavy and well placed. Legolas frowned, thinking it to be a typical leader, and began to avert his gaze, when slowly, it carefully raised its ugly weapon:

a bow, and trained on Boromir.

Legolas' eyes widened as the beast drew back the horrid, black arrow, his lips parted to reveal discoloured teeth. _No!_ He raced forward, raising his own bow and aiming even as he ran. _Concentrate, Thranduillion!_ His panicked mind bellowed at him as his shaft levelled with the beast.

Two arrows were nocked. Two arms were drawn back.

One, single arrow flew as its bow sang, and met its target with a hollow thud.

* * *

**A/N:** Mwahahahahaha!!! Next chapter by Thursday, I promise, or I will throw away my galaxy chocolate bar ;( Till next time...


	7. Crystals on Blue Velvet

**A/N:** Right, I kept my promise! Chapter 7, great great? Have to wake up at 3 am on Friday, no doubt my mother will make it hectic. It's so good to be getting out of dreary, old Manchester for some SUN SUN SUN!!! I have plenty of damned essays from school to keep me occupied during the flight (and this 'course). For some reason my headteacher rejected my holiday-informing letter (My older sister's teacher didn't bat an eyelid, why oh why can't I be in college already?), but we're going anyway!!! As always, a big **thank youuu** to all of you- that's right- lovely people. I can't wait until they get to Rohan, the chapters will become more fun to right :)) Read on...

**Disclaimer:** blah blah, no.

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**  
Starcrossed  
**Crystals on Blue Velvet

Boromir's pain-filled eyes held his proudly, flickering feverishly as they attempted to settle in one place.

"My brother, my captain… my king"

A last rattle forced its way from Boromir's lung, then he was still: never to rise again.

From the white tower they would wait for him, but Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor, would not come. He would never return to the kingdom he loved.

Aragorn slowly closed the unseeing eyes, leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on the Gondorian's brow.

"Be at peace." The ranger whispered sorrowfully, placing his hand over the still chest one, last time.

Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and respectfully bowed his head, trying in vain to recollect his thoughts and emotions. Merry. Pippin. Gone. Boromir. Dead… The thoughts riddled his mind, taunting his failure. He was their leader. He'd failed to protect them, all of them…

He sighed once more before stiffly straightening to his knees; stormy eyes never once leaving his fallen companion. He silently watched Boromir's peaceful, drinking in the Gondorian's details. The fair face, the strong jaw, the chain mail he insisted on wearing… He lifted his head, raising his eyes as a rustle sounded from behind him.

"We cannot leave him here for the crows to pick," He spoke finally, rising and turning to face the elf and dwarf. "Or for the orcs to jeer."

Gimli nodded, his dark eyes strangely compassionate as he watched with remorse and slumped shoulders: there was many a time when he and the Gondorian had shared a hearty discussion on ale. Beside him, the elf appeared oddly detached; his eyes and face were completely blank as he stared at the body. Aragorn's narrowed his eyes as listed the state of Legolas' clothes: twigs, dirt and leaves decorated his jerkin- one even stuck out from his hair- while his leggings were muddy and ripped in more than one place. He was not aware that the elf had fallen, as before Legolas had appeared as neat and tidy as ever. And an elf 'tripping' whilst in battle was unheard of, their careful litheness was legendary…

"Legolas?" He called softly, watching the elf's eyes linger on the Gondorian before snapping up to him.

Aragorn blanched: there it was again. For the second time, in only a week, he found himself looking upon the unfamiliar sight of guilt.

"Yes?" Legolas enquired quietly, his voice as tight as his eyes.

Aragorn scrutinized him for a moment, but Legolas' mask rebounded back into place, and he found himself looking only into the unnerving gaze of an expressionless elf. He shook his head, almost to himself, and looked back at Boromir, mulling over what he's just seen.

As they rid Boromir's body of the wretched arrows, and neatly combed his long, dark hair over his shoulders, Aragorn made sure to watch Legolas closely. Never once did the elf's mask slip; he expertly maintained the mask he often held in dire times. Aragorn watched as Legolas neatly arranged Boromir in the funeral boat, folding his arms over his sword and spreading the cloak under him. Lastly, the elf tenderly placed the horn in Gondor next to its owner: it was cloven in two. _Such a waste of a fine object_, Aragorn thought bitterly, straightening Boromir's legs.

The ranger sighed, looking down at Boromir's face. He was so beautifully presented, that even the grievous wounds seemed less… _grievous_. The Gondorian could have been sleeping. And yet, he wasn't.

Together, Aragorn and Legolas pushed the boat off from shore, and the three companions- no, _friends_- watched in stark silence as the boat floated away; further, and further, and further, until it disappeared. As if it had simply dropped from the edge of middle-earth.

"Frodo and Sam have reached the other side." Legolas' bland voice shattered the silence, as his eyes travelled towards the boat on the eastern shore.

The ranger contemplated the eastern shore, weighing his options. _Save the hobbits. Help the hobbits - Help the hobbits. Save the hobbits… _

"The fate of the bearer is in our hands no longer." Aragorn replied with finality, regarding the boat wistfully. "The company has played its part. And I will not leave our two, small companions to torment and death."

They watched as he turned to them- their leader; their friend- with a sly smile planted on his face, and a fiery glint in his eye.

"Let us go hunt some orc." And with that he grinned and turned, racing off through the trees.

Gimli grinned at Legolas, shaking his axe with a gleeful '_Yes_!' and following after the ranger's back. The elf ran silently, his mask still in place as he reluctantly overtook the dwarf.

* * *

Aragorn bent down, closing his eyes as he firmly pressed his ear to the rock. A muffled, distant thunder rumbled, becoming faster and faster…

"Their pace has quickened." He murmured, dimly irritated with their lack of stealth. "They must have caught out scent. Hurry!"

He sprang up and lithely dashed over rock and grass, whilst behind him, the elf cried back to his dwarven friend.

"Come on, Gimli!" Legolas called out urgently, pausing for a moment to look for the dwarf. He heard him before he saw him, huffing and puffing as he jogged slowly up the slope, red-faced.

"Three days and nights pursuit" Gimli panted, stopping to catch his breath, one hand on his knee and the other on his axe. "No food. No rest. And no sign of our quarry but what bare rock can tell!" He took a deep breath, attempting to fill his empty lungs before setting off again, jogging laboriously after the golden haired archer.

Dwarves were made for forges, for making and shaping weapons, and for mining and digging in search of jewels. Dwarves were _not_ made for running incredible distances, over hill and rock, without any rest or food. He was parched; he was hungry; his legs ached, and most importantly, he was _tired_. _Should've known_, Gimli thought to himself as he attempted to jump over a rock, and instead went crashing over it and into the grass.

"Come, Gimli!" Legolas called out again, motioning impatiently with his arm as Aragorn ran ahead of them as he proclaimed: "We are gaining on them!"

Without further word the elf spun on his heels, already racing after the ranger. Gimli frowned enviously at his lithe friend, jumping and sprinting with ease: the elf didn't even seem _close_ to tired. As always, he possessed unending bundles of energy. _Bah! _Gimli thought gruffly to himself _No dwarf envies an elf! _And with that he followed, lightly calling out after the two.

"I'm wasted on cross-country. We dwarves are natural sprinters." He joked, though more to give _himself_ heart rather than the human and elf; it seemed they were not in need of it. "Very dangerous over short distances!"

He waved his axe as if to punctuate the fact, but immediately regretted the movement when he came dangerously close to losing his balance. Huffing as he straightened, he saw his friends stop, standing on large rocks as they gazed out into the distance.

"Rohan, home of the horse-lords." Aragorn stated, his husky voice almost dreamy as he looked over the hills and grass. His awe turned into a frown, as he peered curiously at the land.

"There is something strange at work here." He murmured lowly. "Some evil gives speed to these creatures. Sets its will against us."

The ranger sighed, and both dwarf and human looked ahead at their elven friend, watching the plains carefully.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called, his voice echoing across the rocks. "What do your elf-eyes see?"

Gimli waited patiently for Legolas to answer, already familiar with the wondrous sight of the first born, but after a moment the elf seemed to be only confused, and did not reply.

"Legolas?" The dwarf asked, his gruff voice curious.

* * *

"Legolas! What do you elf eyes see?"

Legolas looked across the grasslands, his eyes scanning ever valley, and every hillcrest. There were not so many trees here, a mere few: paired up and scattered about. He saw two not far from them, nestled comfortable among rocks. Legolas smiled. How alike it was to him and the dwarf: two species, opposite in every way, and yet at ease in each other's company. Legolas quickly wiped the smile from his face: he didn't deserve to smile; he didn't even deserve happiness…

Sighing to himself, he let his eyes focus on a mist, white and cloudy as it spread over the lands. _How odd._ He frowned, peering closer: it was growing, albeit barely, but growing nonetheless. He watched with growing realisation as the mist began to cloud his vision.

"Legolas?" He heard the dwarf's gruff voice call out to him, the tone confused, and somewhat concerned.

Legolas shook his head, in an attempt to clear, focusing once more on the task at hand. Thankfully the mist receded as quickly as it had come.

"The Uruks turn northeast." He called back to them, furrowing his brow as he concentrated. His eyes widened in shock, and the Uruks intentions became clear in his mind. "They are taking the hobbits to Isengard!"

_Oh Valar_. Behind him, he heard the ranger emit a shaky breath, his barren whisper almost lost in the wind.

"Saruman."

* * *

"Ada_?" Legolas called curiously, his high voice hesitant as he peered around the doorway. //_Daddy_?//_

_King Thranduill looked up from his desk, grief clouding his features as his deep eyes came to rest on his young son._

"_What is it, _ion nîn_?" He enquired wearily, rubbing his temples tiredly as he awaited an answer. //_my son_//_

_Legolas hesitated again, his wide eyes a bright blue as his lower lip trembled dangerously. _

"_I can't sleep." He replied quietly, his voice shaking with barely suppressed tears._

_Thranduill sighed, but smiled kindly at the little elfling and motioned him to enter. Smiling happily, the blond elfling bounded inside, his bare feet padding against the floor as he reached his father's side. The elven king pulled his golden-haired son onto his lap, wrapping his arms loosely around the elfling as Legolas snuggled into him, resting his golden head against his father's shoulder with his face turned into Thranduill's neck. The king sighed, leaning back into his chair as he rested his chin on Legolas' head._

"_Why were there so many guests today, _Ada_?" Legolas asked after a moment, his innocent tone curious._

"_They were here-" Thranduill stopped as his voice broke, and firmly cleared his throat before staring again. "They were here to honour the queen."_

"_But _Nana_ isn't here." Legolas stated after a moment, confusion evident in his wide eyes, as he straightened in his father's arms to look him in the face. "Shouldn't they come back when _Nana_ returns?" //_Mummy_//_

_Thranduill's emotions were already twisted deep in turmoil, and he could bear it no longer; the puzzlement in Legolas' proved too much for him, and he finally broke._

"Ada_?" Legolas asked in alarm as Thranduill wept, placing his small hands on each of the king's cheeks, his wide eyes bearing into those of his father's: identical in colour to his. "Why do you cry, _Ada_?"_

"_Nana will not be returning, _tithen las nîn_." Thranduill whispered, hoping in vain to maintain his son's innocence. //_My little leaf_//_

"_Why not?" Legolas enquired, frowning deeply._

"_She was tired, Legolas." Thranduill tried to explain. "So it was best she went to sleep."_

"_Sleep?" Legolas repeated incredulously, his blue eyes widening comically. "Then why are you crying? I had thought sleep is a good thing."_

_Thranduill smiled faintly, lifting his hand to caress his son's cheek._

"_It is, _tithen pen_." //little one// He whispered. "I am merely clearing my eyes."_

_Legolas laughed at the ridiculous idea, childish mirth lighting his face._

"_What a silly thing to say, _Ada_!" He giggled, using his small hands to wipe away Thranduill's tears, before snuggling warmly against his father's chest. Thranduill smiled down at his son._

"_I think it is time for you to go back to bed, _tithen pen nin_." He announced lightly, tickling his son's small toes and making him giggle. //_My little one_//_

_"I want to stay with you." Legolas murmured sleepily, his petite features angelic despite the frown he wore, as he pressed his face further into his father's chest. Thranduill sighed, but merely smiled again as he wrapped his strong arms around his son, rocking slightly as he began humming a soft, yet jaunty tune. The elfling smiled into his father's clothes, cuddling deeper against his father. The humming was soothing to him, easing any distress he'd ever had from his mind, and giving him the feeling that he was safe: safe in his father's arms._

_But all too soon, the humming stopped, and suddenly his father's arms were not so comforting._

"Ada_?" Legolas asked; his voice muffled by the king's robes. No reply came. "_Ada_?" He called again; still no reply. With a sigh, Legolas lifted his face to look at his father. "_Ada_, what-" _

_Red eyes bore into him. Legolas screamed._

*

Legolas' eyes snapped open, as he immediately groped for his bow, bolting upright as he aimed.

But there was no one there: no enemies to slay, only the night sky and his, still, slumbering friends. The elf sighed heavily, shakily passing a hand over his face as he set down the bow. His mind was fooling him, giving him the idea they were being constantly watched, and the nightmares were certainly no help for matters. He sighed again; shrugging off his blanket as he slowly stood, and stretched his back.

It was still long before dawn, _too_ long, yet Legolas was itching to set off again, in search of Merry and Pippin. Every passing second was a second closer to the hobbits' death, and he was very much against these rests, knowing that the beasts would not. He wanted to be reassured they were safe, but he had to accept that as mortals, Aragorn and Gimli needed more rest than he, and non-stop search would do them more bad than good. He was sure they wanted to carry on just as much as he, and it was selfish of him to think otherwise. He sighed, tilting his head back to the sky as his cloak whipped behind him, allowing silence to envelop him.

Above, the stars twinkled like crystals on blue velvet, shining brightly from the night sky; safe from the greed and turmoil that was middle-earth. _One who owns the stars would be wealthy indeed_, Legolas contemplated, _and the moon would prove a most magnificent possession._

But perhaps the moon had indeed an owner, and the stars and the sun. Perhaps even the creatures of middle-earth were under ownership. Perhaps even _he_ was owned. Legolas stifled a bitter laugh. What pride was there left for an object, possessed by the unknown? Especially a broken object…

Legolas shook his head furiously. He had no time for bitter thoughts and self-pity: the hobbits were in dire need of aid, and his attention- _all _of it –should be fixed only on their rescue. He looked again at the crystals in the sky, and wondered about the hobbits. Somewhere, they looked upon the very same sky. _Hopefully…_

"Legolas?" A slurring voice enquired quietly from behind him, and he turned to see the ranger watching him, still curled under his blanket, his dark head using a pack as a makeshift pillow.

"You should be asleep, Mellon nîn." Legolas stated quietly, softening his features as Aragorn began to scowl at him.

"As should you." He grumbled defiantly, and with some force. "We will have no need of a half-asleep elf in the morning, Legolas."

"I know, Estel." Legolas smirked at his friend. "I will sleep in a moment. I was merely thinking."

The ranger's scowl deepened, but he nodded wearily, and within minutes was again snoring softly. Legolas' smirk slowly faded, and he turned back to the stars. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and flinching at the image that greeted him, behind shut lids. How could he sleep, when faces plagued his very thoughts? _Oh Boromir…_

* * *

Aragorn frowned deeply as he rolled up his blanket and hastily stowed it into his pack, mirroring the dwarf beside him. Legolas stood watching patiently, arms crossed, as he remained emotionless and silent. The ranger knew the elf wished for them to hurry, and wished they were able to chase the beasts non-stop, until the hobbits were found, but nothing showed on his fair, impassive face: the mask was back in place.

Even besides the lack of emotion, there was something terribly wrong with him. In merely a day Legolas had become pale; so pale, in fact, that his dark lashes stuck out in contrast to his pallid skin. It was almost as if Legolas was being forced to hold his tongue, by more than will. And his hands absently wrung his bow as he waited.

Aragorn sighed, nodding to Legolas as he strode past the elf, signalling their leave. The archer waited for Gimli to pass before following, his cobalt eyes darting across the plains and over the hills as he strode without a word.

It seemed that the dwarf had also noticed the change in the elf, for as sunrise approached, his dark eyes flickered increasingly to the elf, and he split his time between looking concerned for Legolas, and attempting to catch his breath: in vain, of course.

Aragorn almost smiled, leaping down a slope as his friends followed. The sun began to peek from its mountain cover, shining a dark red across the sky, and bathing all in orange. It was almost eerie, had Aragorn not seen similar sunrises.

"A red sun rises." Legolas murmured from behind him, his golden head turning towards the floating orb. "Blood has been spilt this night."

The words did nothing to hearten Aragorn, but he knew they must be spoken. Gimli only grunted defiantly, tightening his grip on his axe as he followed behind, his dark eyes shifting restlessly from side to side. Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, when a rumbling cut off his train of thought. He whipped around, looking wildly for the source, but instead locked eyes with the elf. He sighed resignedly to himself before both friends hastily dove behind a large rock, dragging the bedraggled dwarf behind them.

They waited with held breaths as the rumbling approached, and suddenly a company of horsemen thundered past, sat atop shimmering steeds. Each were tall, their heads golden and their spears sharp as they rode with practise and ease, that only one of the Rohirrim could possess.

They and their mounts were one; it was if the horse knew precisely what would be required of them, and would do so without hesitation or delay. And it was noting this that Aragorn felt confident enough to rise out form behind the rocks, and stride out into the open. The move made him vulnerable in every way, but the symbols they bore were enough to put him at ease. He watched for a short moment, before opening his mouth and calling out to them, convinced they were safe.

"Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?"

* * *

**A/N:** By the way, his dreams are just nightmares. I'm not saying that Legolas' father seriously turned into an evil monster. As I said in the last chapter, I'm going on holiday, so there will be** no updates for two weeks**. Sorry, but hopefully the chapters I write whilst on holiday will make it worthwhile. FLORIDAAA!!! Till next time...


	8. The Coil is Set

**A/N:** Back from holiday, apologies for the two week wait! I got a lot done, surprisingly. Four Starcrossed chapters, a drabble, a songfic and two oneshots! Wahey. This chapter is my shortest so far, and probably my worst... but, I'll be posting chapter 8, 9 & 10 every other day. So Chapter Eight is here at your mercy, I'll have nine for you by Monday, (technically today is Sunday because its 30 minutes past midnight, but let's pretend not.) Oh, and don't ask why I post a disclaimer EVERY chapter. It's a habit.

**Disclaimer (renewed): **No characters, settings, or whatnot belongs to me. Everything that is familiar, including a few lines (quoted from the movie), is not mine.

* * *

**Starcrossed  
**The Coil is Set

Like a gust of wind the company turned, their golden hair flowing behind them as they altered their course with ease. There seemed to be little said, and yet each rider spent little hesitation bringing about their steed, and none wavered even when one came perilously close to another; it was as watching water pass through a valley.

Aragorn speculated and noted all this within a second, raising an impressed eyebrow back at Legolas before turning back. _Valar, the Rohirrim ride fast_, he thought to himself. They were already upon them, steering their rides to form a threatening circle around the three hunters, and lowering their spears to level with them. The ranger found himself staring into the very point of one, and raised his hands, open-palmed; showing they bid no harm was the wisest of many choices.

"What business does an Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?" Enquired the tallest of the men, his tone deep and helm decorated with the richest of carvings, "Speak quickly!"

It was at that ill-timed point that the stubborn, hard-headed, dwarfish natured shone through, and Gimli son of Gloin stepped forth and replied with an answer that only he would dare to think of in the face of so many spears.

"Give me your name, Horse-master," Gimli replied gruffly, "and I shall give you mine."

Aragorn stiffened at the dwarf's response, giving Gimli a stern look of warning, but the damage was done. The man visibly bristled, narrowing his eyes as he threw his spear to another and slid from his horse.

"I would cut off your head, Dwarf," He seethed menacingly, "if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Within a short second Legolas had drawn, nocked, and aimed a green-fletched arrow at the horse-master's head, holding it firm as he glared daggers at the man.

"You would die before your stroke fell." The elf hissed, unflinching even as the company started and levelled each spear solely on him. Realising quickly that neither elf nor company would yield, Aragorn stepped between man and elf, pushing down Legolas' bow whilst shooting him a look. _Not now,_ it said.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn." He introduced himself, before motioning to his two friends. "This is Gimli son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm. We are friends of Rohan, and of Theoden, your king."

At the ranger's words, something in the man's face fell, and his voice was grave as he spoke.

"Theoden no longer recognises friend from foe, not even his own kin." He sighed heavily, removing his helm. A mane of gold fell down over his shoulders, and a strong face was revealed, stern yet with deep eyes: this man was no enemy of theirs.

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands." He gestured sadly to his company, sorrow embedded in his features. "My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that we are banished."

Without warning his features hardened, and he lowered his voice, as if unseen creatures eavesdropped. "The white wizard is cunning. He walks here and there they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked." His gaze flicked pointedly to Legolas, meeting the elven glare. "And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

"We are no spies." Aragorn reassured him calmly, and drew his attention away from Legolas. "We track a party of Uruk-hai, westwards across the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive."

The man shook his head. "The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night.

Gimli's eyes widened in panic, and once again he pushed past the ranger. "But there were two hobbits!" He exclaimed hastily. "Did you see two hobbits with them?"

"They would be small; only children to your eyes." Aragorn added, steadily meeting the man's eyes.

"We left none alive." The man replied gravely, signalling in the direction they'd come. "We piled the carcasses and burnt them."

Gimli's face fell, managing to choke out a single word. "Dead?"

"I am sorry." The horse-master apologized, and in his voice there was such sincerity that they truly believed him. For the shortest of moments he looked thoughtful, before turning with a whistle and calling. "Hasufel! Arod!" Two magnificent horses were brought through the company, one a gentle grey, while the other a strong bay. The man took their reins, considering them carefully as he patted the grey's flank.

"May these horses bear you to better fortune than their previous masters." He told them, handing Aragorn the reins before readying his helm. "Farewell." He placed it over his golden head, leaping lithely back onto his steed. "Look for your friends, but do not trust to hope; it has forsaken these lands."

He inclined his head, and with a Rohirrim command, the company thundered away, leaving behind three anguished friends. Gimli waited for no longer than a few seconds, before storming off in the direction the man had gestured towards, muttering under his breath "Can't be dead…no, certainly not."

For a moment both Aragorn and Legolas stared dazedly after the dwarf, but finally the words sunk in, and they followed quickly after Gimli's back, having to sprint to catch him. Never before had the dwarf run so fast, but even so, he was overtaken by the man, and the man by the elf, as spiralling fumes of blackened smoke peeked into their vision, and a volatile odour like no other caused their eyes to water.

And there, upon dead grass at the fringes of a forest, was piled the smouldering bodies of Uruk-hai. Aragorn moved around the bonfire or death, his stormy eyes darting to find any sign of a halflings, whether dead or alive. Yet the word of the Rohirrim proved true: not a living soul or mind, if Uruks indeed possessed either, lived. Red spots danced in the ranger's eyes, taunting him. They were dead. Dead! And the fault was all his. He failed them… With a cry of anguish, he brought his foot through the ugly helm of a Uruk, and dropped heavily to his knees, head bowed.

* * *

Legolas stared at the pile of rotting Uruks, dimly aware of Aragorn's searching. The hobbits were not there, this he already knew, but he hadn't the heart to tell his friend; he'd find out soon anyhow.

He wondered if the hobbits were in a better place, eating they're stomachs to burst. After all, they had no halls of Mandos. Perhaps there was a hobbit's equivalent, and the two were seated with a pint of ale in hand, and a table of the most luxurious of foods stretched out before them. Perhaps even Boromir was there, inebriated and singing to his heart's desire… _Oh Boromir…_

Something tensed inside him, like a coil set to spring. Fatigue finally edged through his bones; he felt heavy, oh, so heavy.

"_Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath_." He whispered, closing his eyes as he lightly rested his hand over his heart. //_Find they peace in death_//

He didn't feel the need reopen his eyes; he deserved to be in darkness. Nausea washed over him, pulling him down into its depths, and for a moment he felt as he had that day in the rain, in the limbo between Moria and Lothlórien. _No, not again…_

But Aragorn's shocked murmur broke through to him, dispelling the sickness, and Legolas' eyes snapped open.

He saw the ranger on his knees, curiously inspecting a soft dent in the grass, where the dead, colourless strands were flattened, moulding into a shape…

"A hobbit lay here," Aragorn traced his hands across the grass, coming to a second dent. "and another.

He stood quickly into a crouch, sweeping both stormy eyes and hands over the ground as the ranger instincts took over. Legolas stepped closer, standing to watch beside Gimli as Aragorn recited what he saw.

"Bonds were cut." Aragorn moved again. "They were followed…" He stopped straightening to stare into the enveloping darkness of the forest, dread riddling his troubled eyes, and the last two whispered words were almost lost in the wind. "Fangorn forest…"

They stood gazing at the trees, wearily contemplating their thoughts and wishes. Who knew what ill fate had befell the hobbits in a forest of such myth and danger, especially being followed…

"We must go in," Legolas muttered quietly, breaking the silence. "There is no other choice."

There was silence for another moment before Aragorn caught his eyes, nodding shortly, before plunging into the trees without a word. Legolas sighed, following after his reckless friend with the dwarf at his heels.

The trees here were unlike any other Legolas had seen. They were neither as thick nor infinitely tall as those of Lothlórien, but nor were they as green or smooth as those of Mirkwood. No tree was the same: each differed in length, width and appearance, and all seemed to compete in a competition of number of branches, knots and ridges. It appeared to be almost scary.

And here in this forest of folklore, Legolas felt as uneasy as he had in Moria. Never before had he felt such hostility from anything, be it plant or creature; he couldn't even begin to imagine how the dwarf felt.

He glanced over at Gimli, suppressing a smile at seeing the dwarf glaring threateningly at every branch that came within reach of him, and every leaf that fluttered too close, his axe held aloft and glinting dully in the half light.

"Gimli, lower your axe." Aragorn warned, keeping his voice hushed and low. Gimi huffed, but nevertheless lowered his weapon an inch.

"They have feelings, my friend." Legolas whispered quietly, turning his gaze back to the forest around them. "The elves began it, waking up the trees… teaching them to speak."

"Talking trees!" Gimli exclaimed, regarding the forest with renewed alarm. "What do trees have to talk about, hmm… except the consistency of squirrel droppings?"

Legolas sighed, knowing the dwarf's sarcasm was only a calming façade; of course, dwarves and trees were not the best of allies, nor the most firm of allies.

He sighed once again, making to comfort the dwarf when he felt it: a sudden, powerful presence, hindering his senses. He stiffened immediately, stringing his bow taught as Aragorn glanced sidelong at him.

"The white wizard approaches…" He breathed to the ranger, feeling both friends stiffen beside him.

"Don't let him speak." Aragorn whispered hastily, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. "He will put a spell on all of us."

For a short, silent second they bid their time, muscles tensing and eyes darting to and fro. Legolas took a calming breath, running his finger over the familiar green fletching, judging the aim, the location…

"Now!" Hissed the ranger, and the three turned, whipping their weapons to face the searing light. The bow of the Galadhrim sang as Legolas loosed the arrow, watching as it soared true to its target… and was deflected away. What was this sorcery?

With a fierce roar, Gimli flung his axe with all his might, but even the hardened, dwarven weapon flew harmlessly away. Aragorn's was the only weapon with remaining hope, and even that was rendered useless as the blade grew a fierce red, and the ranger was forced to drop it. Shocked by their easy defeat, they peered at the silhouetted figure, shading their eyes in vain from the blinding halo.

"Who are you?" Aragorn called. "Show yourself!"

The glowing figure took a step closer, and as the shadows of Fangorn passed over the white robes, a kind, old face was revealed, speculating them with amusement. The bow of the Galadhrim slipped to the floor.

* * *

-

**Apologies for the shortness and quality of this chapter. Chapter 9 in by Monday, I promise! Till next time...**


	9. Musings of an Accursed Immortal

**A/N: **Monday, like I promised. This was actually meant to be two chapters, the latter of which I would post on Wednesday, but I figured there was no point; they'd both be incredibly short. So here you are with a somewhat bigger chapter than the last. I actually rushed this chapter a little, because you would only be bored by it. It's basically the parts of the movie that I didn't need to, or want to, change, so yeah: the scenes are short and I skipped the unnecessary and very boring bits. After this, I guarantee it will become a little more interesting.

**Disclaimer (I did say it was a habit):** I've basically just quoted the movie here, except a few lines, so I don't want to be accused of plagiarism, and apparently reviewers are beginning to accuse FF authors of either that, or "lack of imagination". The characters, settings, horses were never mine anyway, they belong to Tolkien. Much of the lines and plot in this chapter belongs not to me, but to Peter Jackson, director of the movie.

* * *

**Starcrossed  
**Musings of an Accursed Immortal

He watched as the three hunters gawked at him, their mouths gaping and eyes wide. Stifling a chuckle, he waited patiently as they attempted to recover from their shock.

"Gandalf?" The ranger was the first to recover, and even in his voice was the blatant disbelief detectable. The wizard smiled; their reactions were almost as bad Meriadoc and Peregrin's.

"Gandalf?" He tasted the name, rolling it around his mouth. "Yes… that was what they used to call me. Gandalf the grey, that was my name." He leant forward, fixing his wise eyes on them. "I am Gandalf the White, and I come to you now… at the turn of the tide."

"Forgive me," A softer voice spoke, and the wizard switched his gaze to the Prince of Mirkwood. "I mistook you for Saruman."

Gandalf resisted the urge to narrow his eyes: he'd never seen an elf so pale, and he'd seen a great many elves in his long life. In fact, it occurred to him that elves as pale as that were… _dead_. Greenleaf looked expectantly back up at him, and he only just managed to recover himself.

"I am Saruman," Something was wrong, "Or rather, Saruman as he should have been." very wrong. His elven glow was dimmed, and the young elf looked ready to empty his stomach at any given moment. And yet it seemed as if…

"But you fell." Gandalf looked back to the Dûnedan, the future king.

"Yes, through fire and water." He took a deep breath as the memory played out before him, yet still… "From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth…" The glow dimmed further. "Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountain side…" And further. "Darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time…" And further. "The stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as a life age of the earth," Cobalt eyes were cast to the ground.

"But it was not the end." The eyes glanced back up. "I felt life in me again." Hope and relief were ignited. " I've been sent back until my task is done."

He met the prince's eyes, smiling kindly. Greenleaf Thranduillion smiled back, and the glow was renewed, but nevertheless, Gandalf noted with distain that the pallid skin remained.

"Come." Gandalf swept his hand in a sweeping motion. "Fetch your horses, we must move swiftly to Edoras."

"What of Merry and Pippin?" Aragorn enquired, following closely as he strode past the three.

"Worry not about the hobbits." Gandalf assured him. "They are in the safety of Treebeard; he will protect them."

At his side he saw Greenleaf glow further, releasing a relieved sigh. He frowned to himself, letting his mind wonder yet again. What ailed the Prince of Mirkwood? Or rather, what _had?_

The sun's rays hit them as they stepped out into the clearing, and for a moment he stopped to relish in it, before turning his attention to the plains. His grey eyes scanned the hills swiftly, and he let out a low, melodic whistle. The tinny sound echoed around them, bouncing from one grassy mound to another as the air rang clearly. For a short moment the four waited, the soft breeze tickling their hair as a strong whinny sounded from out of sight, and a magnificent stallion bounded into view.

The Istar heard their gasps as Shadowfax powered towards them, scaling the uneven grounds and scattered rocks as if they were nothing more than paths and pebbles. His rippling coat gleamed a perfect white in the sun's bathing light, and a gentle feeling of pride filled the wizard. This horse and he… they were one.

"That is one of the maeras." Greenleaf murmured beside him, his ageless face in an expression of awe. For a short second Gandalf saw the young elfling he'd known since the prince's birth; the same elfling he'd many a time sat on his knee and entertained with great stories; the same elfling he'd have in fits of giggles; the same elfling he'd comforted in the aftermath of the elvenqueen's death… "Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."

But then the second passed, and Legolas Thranduillion was once again the seasoned warrior he'd become.

"Shadowfax." He turned his attention back to his brilliant steed as he spoke. "He is the lord of all horses, and has been my friend through many dangers."

* * *

Gimli adjusted his grip on the elf yet again, hoping dearly they would soon arrive at Edoras. The elf was skinny, too skinny for his liking. And yet the dwarf knew the deceptively slender frame was naught but a façade, hiding muscles and strength; Legolas was in no way skinny... So why did he fear holding too tightly in case of snapping the elf in half?

The subject of his concern glanced back at him, cocking an eyebrow, but received only a grunt in response. Mayhap the elf was unaware of his lack of fat? Gimli began grumbling to himself in dwarfish, ignoring the amused looks he received from elf, man, and Istar.

"Is something wrong, Mellon nîn?" Legolas enquired, keeping his gaze forward, as beneath them, Arod raced across the plains. Gimli made to shake his head, but realising the elf couldn't see him, instead made do with another, dismissive grunt. He could feel Legolas shaking with laughter, though the only sound was the roar of the wind. _Cast your laughter to the wind._

The wind whipped about them, and their cloaks flew out behind like wings. Gimli snorted to himself, caring only about how could he was. With a deep breath, he forgot his fear and wrapped his arms tightly around the elf's waist, attempting to gain warmth by huddling into his back. A smirk appeared on Legolas' face, but Gimli ignored him. _If he snaps, I shall have to tie the two pieces together. _

_

* * *

  
_

It was not long before they set their tired eyes on a comforting sight: a village built on a hill bathed in gold. Huts and houses of strong wood and stone nestled into the hill's caress, settled as comfortably as they would on flat ground. Even from the distance Gandalf could see stable boys hurriedly tying horses to poles, and others lovingly grooming even more. And the most magnificent house of the village was set highest of all, with a wide, stone porch, and columns holding the area: the house of Théoden.

With speed, they neared the borders of Edoras, earning curious stares and gaping mouths from the guards as they rode past. They slowed at the first hut, making their way steadily upwards towards the dominant house of Théoden, as around them, villagers immediately halted their work, and bundled in groups to watch the three horses, some with trepidation; some with curiosity; some with excitement, and some with plain and disdainful apprehension. Most likely none of these people, however old, had ever seen an elf, or a dwarf, or even a wizard, though the wizard himself decided they were more weary of his staff then his garb. Many had most likely only heard old tales of their folk, and mysterious folk they were indeed told to be.

What a ranger was doing in their company also seemed to confuse them. Gandalf sighed grimly. He hoped dearly that their presence would not cause any misfortune, or that this apprehension they held would not escalate.

Finally, they came to a stop at the bottom of the grand, stone steps, and sliding from Shadowfax, the Istar whispered a few words into his ear, turning to the steps. Two men, ranked highly by the look of their garb, strode to meet them; Gandalf saw great hesitation in the two.

"I cannot allow you before Théoden king so armed, Gandalf Greyhame." One spoke, before hesitating slightly, and in his next words, Gandalf sensed disgust. "By order of Grima _Worm_tongue."

For a moment the wizard only gazed thoughtfully at the fire-haired man. Things had indeed become grim… it was as he feared. And yet, it would be best to comply with the orders. He turned to his three companions, nodding his assent. With a resigned sigh they complied. Greenleaf reluctantly handed over his bow, quiver and knives, Aragorn parted with his sword and knife, and Gimli with his axe. Gandalf smiled good-naturedly at the fiery-haired man as the warrior's sorrowfully handed over their weapons, and was mildly pleased to see him unnerved. He began to take a step forward, when the fiery-man once again halted him.

"Your staff…" He said, nodding towards it, and Gandalf instinctively tightened his curling grip, leaning exaggeratedly against it.

"Oh…" Gandalf chuckled lightly. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick?"

The man hesitated again, eyeing the staff with apprehension, but eventually relented with an inclination of his head, and moved to lead them inside. Gandalf smiled triumphantly, winking at a smirking Aragorn as he followed, threading his hand through Greenleaf's arm and walking slowly for extra measure. The Prince of Mirkwood was visibly attempting to stifle a smile, and teasingly patted the old wizard's hand. Gandalf resisted the urge to scold the elf, whilst examining the hall as behind them the halls slammed shut. There were not many in the great hall of Edoras, and those present were mainly soldiers, each and every one of them regarding the four with apprehension and fear.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late," The Istar remarked, halting in the middle of the hall. "Théoden King."

He watched with narrowed eyes as a man, with greased hair as black as night, and skin so gaunt it appeared beige in the half light, bent and whispered hastily into the king's ear. He suppressed a sigh at the sight of Théoden, a grey, old, mould a man, who seemed as though his years surpassed even the wizard's own, and whose frame sunk deep into the folds of him robes. He was almost lost inside of them.

"Why…should I… welcome you?" Théoden croaked, his voice raw and unused. "Gandalf Stormcrow." _Lessened indeed._

"A just question, my liege. Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear." The greasy man drawled, slowly moving towards them. "'_Lathspell_' I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent." Gandalf snapped back fiercely. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I did not pass through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm."

He shook his staff threateningly, mildly pleased when the worm's eyes bulged and he cowered.

"His staff!" He exclaimed accusingly. "I _told you_ to take the wizard's staff."

Soldiers surged forward to aid, only to be stopped by the three hunters; despite being without weapons, the three easily outmatched them.

"Théoden, son of Théngel." The Istar addressed the king powerfully. "Too long have you sat in the shadows."

To his side, Gimli Gloin's son had the worm on the floor, his boot planted firmly on his chest.

"I would stay still if I were you." The dwarf threatened.

"Harken to me!" Gandalf called, raising his staff and hand. "I release you from the spell..."

For a short moment there was silence, as men, elf and dwarf watched hopefully, scrutinizing the king for change. But none came. Théoden King let out a bark of laughter, leaning forward in his chair.

"You have no power here." He wheezed. "Gandalf the Grey."

Gandalf frowned deeply, but bowed his head shortly and threw off the worn grey cloak, revealing the gleaming white robes, glowing like a halo. He took a step forward, raising his staff and throwing the king back in his chair.

"I will draw you, Saruman." He growled, as Théoden writhed in his chair. "As poison is drawn from a wound."

"If I go," Théoden's croak had deepened into the rich hiss of Saruman himself. "Theoden dies."

"You did not kill me. You will not kill him!"

Théoden somehow fought the barrage of force, his eyes wild as he hissed ferociously.

"Rohan is mine!"

"Be gone!" The Istar bellowed.

The king fell back against his seat, his head bowed as utter silence ensued.

* * *

Never before had the Prince of Mirkwood seen such a spectacle, and he had seen many an unusual thing. In front of him the King of Rohan brandished his sword, threatening the same lowly advisor who'd poisoned his mind with lies and hate. Legolas stifled a smile; it pleased him somewhat to see the leech on the receiving end of his own crimes, especially after he had insulted Mithrandir.

"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" Théoden King roared, raising his sword as Wormtongue cowered against the cobbles. But the killing blow never came, as the ranger was suddenly there, restraining Théoden.

"No, my lord." He stopped Théoden. "Enough blood has been spilt on his account."

For a moment, the murderous glint in the king's eye lingered, but the sense of Aragorn's words was empowering, and he finally relented. Legolas almost rolled his eyes when the ranger stretched out a hand to aid the worm. _He will only spit on your hand, Estel,_ he thought, and gave a small un-elf like snort when the worm did just that, receiving a curious glance from the woman, Éowyn. He felt the softest of blushed begin to creep to his cheeks, but quickly turned back to watch as the worm fled from Edoras. The king stood, his gaze fixed on Wormtongue's retreating back, and it was a long moment before he finally turned back to them.

"Where is my son?" He asked quietly, and all faces fell in unison

* * * * * *

Elves were immortal. Elves were immune to the ravages of time. Elves needn't feel sorrow, and yet Legolas was already well accustomed to funerals. He was quick to find that though the traditions of men differed to those of the elves, they were identical in everything else. The grieving family; the weeping audience; the mournful singer dressed all in white; the pale, white corpse adorned with flowers…

It was the same old affair, repeated many times every day, whatever the race, whatever the cause, whoever the person. Peasant, soldier, knight, king, queen, prince…

He wondered it would be like; to be audience to your own funeral; to hear your own death song; to speculate the type of flower chosen to decorate your hair; to see your own family crying, sobbing; to see your own body, pale, still and lifeless, lying on a slab of rock…

He shuddered. He detested the though of being lain on a slab of rock. What person would want to spend the rest of eternity on something as cold and hard as rock? If one was at peace, shouldn't one be comfortable?

He sighed, looking sorrowfully on as Prince Théodred was borne slowly down the steps, to his tomb of rest, and to where Éowyn, sister daughter of the king, sang.

Who would sing at his funeral? Perhaps Lelani would. As an elfling, he had depended greatly on her; she had been his maid, and after the death of the Elvenqueen, a sort of surrogate mother to him- or close enough. It was only fitting that it would be her crooning down to his cold body; she'd sung him to sleep many a time.

And the flowers? They would most likely be Elfirin: his well-known favorite. It comforted him to imagine their colourful bells decorating his tomb, like an ever-changing rainbow, soft and gentle in the breeze. They would be a magnificent decorator, and it would be ironic for the body of an elf to be adorned with the immortal flower.

And who would be there to weep for him? He hoped it would be all he loved, for that would mean they still lived. His father, Lelani, Aragorn, Gimli, Mithrandir, the hobbits, Arwen, and… but no, that person was already long gone; he wouldn't sob at the Prince of Mirkwood's funeral. _Oh Boromir…_

The song of mourning resumed, the sobs died, the Prince of Rohan was forever sealed in his tomb, on his slab, with his decorating blossom.

* * * * * *

_So young… is their mother even alive? _Legolas thought bitterly as he leant back against the column, his arms crossed. The King of Rohan sat slumped in his chair, the grief of his loss still heavy as he thought. _He had barely a chance to mourn…_

The two children, a young girl and an older boy, ate hungrily at a table, doted upon by Éowyn as she tried to calm the girl and her panicked questions. _She cannot be much more than six…_

"I know what it is that you want of me, but I will not bring further death to my people." Théoden stood and began to pace the hall restlessly. "I will not risk open war."

"Open war is upon you," Aragorn sat at Legolas' elbow, a pipe posed near his mouth as he spoke up. "whether you would risk it or not."

Théoden stopped and turned, his eyes narrowing as they settled on the ranger.

"When last I looked," He said heavily. "Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan."

Aragorn lowered his pipe, inclining his head as Théoden once again turned away. The elf glanced down at his friend, raising his eyebrows enquiringly as their eyes met, but the ranger simply shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, lightly knocking the elf's elbow with his arm.

"Then what is the king's decision?" Gandalf enquired apprehensively, his face passive as he took a striding step closer to Théoden.

Théoden sighed heavily, his eyes travelling to the floor as his shoulders slumped.

"…We go to Helm's Deep." Was his decision, and for a moment, nobody spoke.

It was the wizard who finally made the first move.

"So be it." Gandalf muttered, sweeping out of the hall. Legolas took his weapons as he, Aragorn and Gimli followed hastily, finding that the wizard had waited outside.

"There is no way out of that ravine, Théoden is walking into a trap." He told them angrily, beginning again to stride off with them following. "Éomer is our only hope now."

They flitted down the stairs, stepping fast to keep with the wizard's quickened gait, and moved straight towards the stables.

"Three hundred lives of men I have walked this earth," He resumed ranting. "and now I have no time."

Legolas was quickly able to match the wizard's strides, but lingered even so, wishing not to dampen the spirit of the short-legged dwarf. Gandalf stopped abruptly at the stables' open doors, frowning deeply.

"And now Shadowfax seems to have disappeared…" He murmured, and the ranger smiled.

"Have no worry, Gandalf," He reassured the Istar. "I shall fetch him for you."

He cast a glance in the elf's direction, but seemed to think twice and instead dragged Gimli, protesting, off with him. For a moment there was utter silence, and Legolas began to feel foolish. After all, he stood there holding his weapons in his arms, gazing at the dirt in awkward silence. However, the wizard finally spared him by speaking.

"Legolas," He began quietly, and in his eyes there was remorse. "will you confide in me what ails you?"

Legolas froze, his heart skipping several beats as his mouth opened and closed, at loss of words.

"Do not try to fool me, Greenleaf. I have known you for far too long."

Legolas hesitated, casting his blue eyes to the floor.

"'tis nothing, Gandalf." He paused, and glanced up to see Gandalf gazing at him with such intensity that he backtracked. "There is just… a little _poison_ remaining… from Moria."

At this, Gandalf looked aghast.

"Poison? Moria? But that was long ago!" Gandalf exclaimed in hushed tones. "Had Lady Galadriel not treated you?"

"She had." Legolas replied, rummaging through his mind for a firm lie. "'tis merely nothing now. I had been warned there would be a little excess… it merely requires time to… exit." _Requires time to exit? Foolish elf!_

But if the wizard had anything else to say, it was bitten back as Aragorn reappeared with Gimli, guiding Shadowfax with a hand. Gandalf nodded his thanks, leaping easily up onto Shadowfax' back, and sending Legolas' a fleeting look.

"Look to my coming on the first light of the first day." He told them, as Shadowfax whinnied. "At dawn look to the east."

Shadowfax reared, and with that Gandalf was gone, in the search of hope.

* * *

-

**Boring chapter, the next one is spicier, don't worry. Till next time...**


	10. The Fall of Hope

**A/N: ***Ducks flying daggers and beer bottles* I'm sorry!!! No, I didn't go on holiday again. I'm not that lucky. I'm afraid I was possessed by a Doctor Who obsession, still am in fact. Well, technically, I'm now obsessed with all things David Tennant, but particularly doctor Who and Barty Crouch Jr. The reason I didn't post when I was meant (yes, I'm late by a long time) was that I was going through all of the Doctor Who episodes. I have them all recorded you see, so I was using the computer to watch them, and I'm afraid I was too out of my head to type this up! And yesterday and the day before I was going through Harry Potter 4. but I'm back now! So here is Chapter ten, I'm afraid it's probably not very well written, considering I've been off my head with Tennantness, but nevertheless... Oh, and we're back to weekly posts, I have too many essays to be able to post every few days (just how many essays are you supposed to get in History anyways?). Read on...

**Disclaimer:** Disclaimed

* * *

**Starcrossed  
**The Fall of Hope

A steady stream of men, women and children flooded from Edoras; many were too old for such a journey, and many too young. Éowyn sighed to herself, almost none of her people had ever left Edoras, and now they were to flee all the way to Helms Deep. At her side rode the young boy and girl, and she began to contemplate if their mother was alive; if they would arrive at Helms Deep with no arms to envelop them; if they were to be left alone in the world.

She knew it to be an increasingly common case in these parts, if not even around the very corners of Middle-earth. Families were murdered, crops were burnt, villages were pulled to the ground, and in their smouldering ashes all began to decay. Was it that the world she knew was crumbling? Or had it already been this way?

She couldn't recall a time when she and her brother had shared a moment; couldn't remember a time when her uncle had caught her in his arms. She and her brother had been forced to grow up well before the ripe age, even her cousin had been well matured by the age of at least twelve. He had been a brother to her as much as Éomer had, a helping hand, a supporting shoulder, and a lightened laugh… now he was dead.

She sighed to herself, looking up at the dwarf as she led the bay: Gimli, that was his name, and her sadness was carefully dispelled by his light-hearted jokes and jaunty laugh. He had probably no idea how importantly his cheerful demeanour affected her, but it mattered not.

"-and that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!" Gimli exclaimed, waving his arms to emphasise his words, and for the first time in a long while, Éowyn truly laughed. "Which is of course ridiculous."

At that precise moment Arod, already unsettled by the dwarf's ramblings, bolted in surprise at his bark of laughter, and took Gimli a little way with him before the dwarf fell unceremoniously onto the ground.

"It was deliberate!" He immediately stated defensively as Éowyn rushed forward, giggling. "It was deliberate!"

She bent down and helped him to his feet, beaming joyfully as her gaze flickered to her uncle and the ranger.

A dwarf, a man, a wizard, and an elf; they were who freed the king from Saruman's hold. The dwarf she had already come to know, and from the very first moment, she had decided she liked this hearty companion. The man she had also taken to immediately, from the moment he caught her wrist, and her heart had fluttered despite her uncle's predicament. He was a king in the garb of a ranger, yet no matter what he may be- wanderer or royalty- he treated her with higher regard than all others had. The wizard, however, had gone almost as soon as he came, and she had no memories of him as a child, but knew of the strong friendship he held with her uncle and Rohan. And the elf… well, the elf had yet to talk to anyone besides the wizard, man and dwarf, and now he was nowhere to be seen.

She had never seen an elf before, or a dwarf for that matter, but their kin had been depicted as strange folk from folklore of her childhood. The fairest of all, the oldest of all, and the wisest of all, and yet they were the most mysterious of all. She was curious of this golden haired archer…

-

* * * * *

-

The day was drawing to an end by the time the king called for a halt, and the people of Rohan set about making camp for the night. Éowyn could hear them behind her, hustling and bustling. Some called for their children, and others organised their possessions, but the noises were distant; and her mind was elsewhere.

She gazed back at the path they had trekked, the long and laborious way from Edoras. She was hard-pressed to believe that villagers of young and old had travelled so far in but a single day… in a single day they had gone from sleeping in their own beds, to camping on hilly plains, devoid of trees but for one. She now stood beside it, clutching her pot of broth in her hands. _I must surely look ridiculous_, she thought with a sigh, turning back to the Rohirrim.

"Is something wrong, my lady?" A soft voice drifted down from above, and she froze, looking up into the threadbare canopy of the tree.

There sat the elf, sat atop a branch as steadily as if it were the ground, and looking curiously down at her. For a moment she didn't reply, too surprised at his sudden appearance, but eventually managed a dumbfounded shake of her head. The elf, Legolas his name was, smiled in amusement, and dropped from the branch to land lightly and gracefully in front of her. She blinked at him; the branch was rather high up…

"You seem troubled."

She blushed, aware that she'd been staring, and cleared her throat lightly before replying.

"I was just thinking," She began, "of the distance we have covered."

"You are surprised?" The elf enquired; his voice was musical, a soft purr in the wind, lilting and beautiful even with the use of the common tongue. She was so mesmerised by it that she almost forgot to answer.

"We are but farmers and villagers." She said, reluctantly tearing her eyes from his blue ones. Was an elf meant to be that pale? "Most of us have not even left Edoras."

"Perhaps you underestimate your people." He mused kindly, following her gaze to the horizon. She couldn't help but discreetly note the high cheekbones and smooth jaw, completely free of hair and beard. "I find that even the unlikeliest of people, be they farmer of villager, can accomplish a great number of things when in dire times."

It was the most she had ever heard him say, and for a short while the two regarded the plains in silence. The sun was fading, lighting the sky a tremendous gold, and darkening the hills. She glanced sidelong towards him; he could have been a statue of marble, his porcelain skin was a stark white against the dimming day, and the only movement that came from him was the soft flutter of his cloak. She contemplated how alone he must be, so far from any of his kin.

"And what of your people, my lord?" She enquired after a while.

"My people were great warriors in their time… but soon I suspect we shall all fade to the undying lands," He replied, his velvet voice quiet, "and Middle-earth shall be left to the world of men."

They were silent again, listening to the villager's bustling, before Éowyn finally remembered the pot of broth. "Would you like some broth, my lord?" She found herself asking.

"I would indeed, my lady." He smiled warmly, and she hastily poured him a bowl, watching eagerly as he raised the spoon to his lips and sipped. Something resembling a soft shudder passed through the elf's leonine body, and her hopes were immediately dashed.

"You do not like it?" She stated more than asked, her tone coloured by disappointment.

"Nay, it is not that… I think it may be…" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "May I enquire as to the content of this broth?"

"I'm afraid it was only what we had to spare;" She replied, slightly confused, but nevertheless began listing off the ingredients, "a mite of lamb, a few herbs, mushrooms-"

"Ah!" He suddenly exclaimed, nodding as if she'd just told him the time of day. "I'm afraid we elves do not take too kindly to mushrooms, my lady. A rather unfortunate flaw." His expression changed, and she would have thought him to seem mischievous if not for the fact that he was an elf; elves were meant to be serene. "Though, I am sure that Gimli or Es- _Aragorn_ would certainly like some."

"You truly think so?" Éowyn asked happily, and he nodded with a smile. "I shall go and find them… I have enjoyed your company, my lord."

"As I have yours." He replied lightly, bowing gracefully to her before she turned to find the dwarf and ranger.

_Mushrooms?_ She though to herself, _what a peculiar race…_

_

* * *

_

_-  
_

His bulging stomach rumbled in distain, protesting deeply against the broth inside. Aragorn sighed, shifting restlessly on the rock as he attempted to gain comfort from its bare surface. Éowyn's broth had taken complete resident inside of him, much to his regret. _I must learn to say no, even if it were a lady. _A quiet peal of laughter sounded lightly from behind, and suddenly Legolas was sat beside him, his pale eyes brimmed with mirth.

"I assume you loved Lady Éowyn's broth?" He enquired innocently, though his eyes gave away his true intentions. It was fantastically easy to fit two and two together.

"Watch yourself, elf." Aragorn growled in false menace. "I shall have my revenge."

Legolas merely laughed again, immediately quietening when one of Gimli's snores punctuated the air, and he noticed the sleeping dwarf beside Aragorn. With a content sigh, Legolas settled back against the rock, his hands on his knees as he gazed up to the sky.

"Have you seen a more beautiful night, Estel?" He asked, and Aragorn shook his head, smiling at the elf's dreamy demeanour.

"No, Legolas," He replied, shifting once again. "I have not."

They gazed in companionable silence at the velvet sky, listening to the snores around them. It was a little while before the elf finally broke the silence.

"Do you hope for Frodo and Sam?" He enquired softly, never breaking his gaze from above.

"I hope with all my heart." Aragorn replied quietly, before shifting once again with a heavy sigh. "Did we do the right thing, Legolas? Should we have instead accompanied them?"

"We did what was best…Merry and Pippin were in danger." The golden archer replied slowly, with measured words, breaking into a soft smile. "Plus, with each other, Frodo and Sam could defeat a whole army if they so wished to."

Aragorn smiled, before grimacing in embarrassment as his stomach gave another almighty rumble.

"You sound like Pippin." Legolas chuckled, shifting closer to the ranger.

"Treebeard will not find better company." Aragorn grinned happily, thinking wistfully of Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. "And the little ones will not find better safety."

"Aye," Legolas murmured in agreement, seeming thoughtful, "they are the safest of us all."

The two were silent for a little while longer, and the only sounds that filled the air were the rustles of the Rohirrim

"Then… we are not safe." Aragorn whispered finally, closing his eyes briefly as he shifted again.

"No one is _ever_ safe, Estel." Legolas remarked with a musical sigh, pulling his cloak around him. Aragorn frowned slightly. Was the elf _cold_?

"But we shall be in the very hubbub of it all, mellon nîn." Aragorn continued heedless. "Have thoughts of death never filled your mind? Have you ever thought, that in merely a year's time, you shall not taste the victory with your people? That you would be lying cold on a patch of soiled dirt?"

"…In a year's time?" Legolas appeared slightly dazed as he repeated the words, but quickly recovered himself. "Come now, Estel. Do not plague the air with such negative thoughts. I, for one, am going to sleep."

And with that he relaxed back into the rock, his eyes quickly glazing into elven dreams. Aragorn smiled, gently tilting the elf's head to rest on his shoulder, before pulling out his pipe and settling back to smoke.

-

* * * * *

-

Aragorn strode silently as he led Hasufel, thoughtfully observing the surroundings. They were nearing Helm deep, less than a day's walk away, and the villagers were gladdened by it. Even the weariest of them began to imagine the fine stonewalls of the stronghold.

Beside him walked Éowyn, lost in her own mind as they journeyed westwards over hill and grass.

Somewhere behind them the dwarf led Arod, using the entire length of the reins to distance himself from the horse, and every now and then glancing backwards at him with distrust. Aragorn stifled a chuckle, turning to the lady of Rohan as she spoke.

"Where is she?" Éowyn asked, looking curiously at him. "The woman who gave you that jewel."

The ranger instinctively glanced down, his eyes meeting with the necklace of Evenstar: the jewel of his loved one. He sighed, looking down to the floor. Had he condemned that very loved one to death? He remembered the words of Lord Elrond, when the fellowship had yet to set off from Rivendell. They had argued; merely one of the few times Aragorn had ever done so with the Lord of Imladris. Harsh, bitter words had been exchanged, yet both arguers had noble causes. Elrond simply wished for a thing any father would want for his daughter: safety. He would have Arwen sail to the west, and leave this world of suffering and despair. He would see his daughter protected from harm. And Aragorn… Aragorn loved her.

"She is sailing to the undying lands with all that is left of her kin." He replied, avoiding her eyes as he looked in front.

The shieldmaiden went immediately silent, and the two remained so, as Háma and Gamling thundered past on horseback, passing by all villagers, and the solitary, lithe figure ahead of them all.

Both Aragorn and Éowyn watched as the two disappeared over the hill, and past the rocky ledge where Legolas stood, clutching his bow and scanning the path ahead with hawk-like eyes.

Aragorn sighed again; the changes in the golden archer were blatant. Of course, the Rohirrim could see nothing wrong. After all, as far as they knew, all elves could be that… wan. Yet he hid his concern silently, instead choosing to assess the elf's condition by watching his every move. Legolas had the uncanny ability to hide a wound until the last possible moment. He remembered the time the Prince of Mirkwood had collapsed in the very middle of an Elven festival, and all because he considered a deep gouge in his side- inflicted by a wandering warg while returning home- a mere '_scratch_'. Aragorn doubted there was anyone who could surpass the stubbornness of his friend.

He watched carefully as Legolas remained completely motionless, when suddenly the elf's head lifted, cocking slightly as he listened to the air… the yell of panic and savage roar arrived a mere moment later.

Éowyn audibly gasped beside him, her reaction of fear echoed by the others as they froze. Aragorn hastily handed her Hasufel's reins, running forwards as Legolas jumped down from sight, an arrow notched. _Please be careful, mellon nîn._ He grasped his swinging sword to his side as he sprinted up the small hill, stopping at the edge. Gamling was attempting in vain to control his horse, and a bloodied and ruined body lay nearby: Háma.

"A scout!" Legolas yelled back to him, savagely wrenching his arrow from the head of an orc rider, beside the ugly corpse of a warg. The ranger turned back, racing back down to the Rohirrim as Théoden rode towards him.

"Wargs!" Aragorn bellowed, rushing for Hasufel. "We're under attack!"

"All riders to the head of the column!" The great king of Rohan roared back to his people, steering his horse around to face them.

Gimli started, rushing back to Arod's side and attempting- yet failing- to climb onto the saddle. Two soldiers noted his dismal plight and came to aid him, one proceeded to boost him up while the other steadied Arod.

"Come on, get me up here." Gimli grumbled, more to himself. "I'm a rider. Come on! Yes!"

Aragorn climbed lightly onto his saddle, passing Gimli as the dwarf struggled forwards, and the stubbornly refusing Arod. The Riders of Rohan charged forward over the hill, their swords raised and pointed, and in the hubbub of panic, Aragorn sought out Éowyn. For a short, calm moment their eyes met, holding each other's sorrowful gaze.

And then Aragorn turned away, surging forward with the riders.

Over the hill they raced, nearing the golden archer as he stood firmly, his bow singing as a single green-fletched arrow flitted into the approaching swarm of Warg and Orc. It soared elegantly through the air, effortlessly cutting down one rider and Warg, and still they approached. As the Rohirrim neared, another arrow felled another life before Legolas spun, catching hold of Arod's neck and swinging gracefully to sit in front of Gimli.

Their battle cries coloured the air as the gap between Rohirrim and Orc was lessened, and Aragorn raised his sword as Hasufel plunged straight into the fray…

Horse collided with warg, spear collided with orc, and the battle cries were turned into sickening thuds and cracks. Aragorn saw a warg clamp its teeth into one man, and winced mentally at the scream emitted: there was nothing he could do. Instead, he swung and parried atop Hasufel, felling both Wargs and their riders. From his peripheral vision he saw Gimli topple to the ground and face a warg, but the elf's arrow put a stop to the beast long before it could harm Gimli.

"That one counts as mine!" Gimli roared, turning to wave his axe at another Warg. "_Bring your pretty face to my axe_."

The ranger spurred Hasufel on, separating an orc from its head with little effort. He had spun and thrust his sword hilt-deep into a Warg's head and decapitated another orc by the time he noticed the dwarf's new predicament. The dwarf lay under the corpses of an orc and a warg, struggling to lift both and completely unaware of the new warg stalking in his direction. Aragorn scanned the bloodstained hill, his eyes meeting with a spear. He steered Hasufel towards it, seizing the wooden shaft, and with all his might throwing it straight at the Warg. The warg was pierced, falling to add to the ever-growing bulk of weight on the dwarf's chest, who huffed indignantly with frustration.

He continued straight on past them, as he and a warg rider met blades. He parried twice, before finally thrusting his sword into its chest; it let out an ugly squeal before keeling from the beast's back.

By the time the roar of a warg had reached Aragorn's ears, it was too late.

-

* * *

-

_Leave the dead._ Legolas watched passively as Théoden paced the walls of Helms Deep, scrutinising every aspect. _Leave the dead. _Gimli stood beside him, resting his hands on his axe as he often did. _Leave the dead._ Éowyn stood at the wall next to Gimli, gazing out at the land; there was much emotion hidden deep in her eyes. It never ceased to amaze the elf how quickly Aragorn gained the hearts of others. He'd often joked it was the ranger's 'masculine scent', or his 'rugged looks', or even the way his 'dishevelled caught the sunlight'… the ranger would merely snort haughtily. Oh, how they'd laugh.

_Leave the dead._ Théoden had finished scrutinising, and now walked back their way, his hands folded behind his back; he was a good king, Legolas didn't doubt that. Théoden did only as a king did for his people.

_Boromir._ Gimli shifted beside him as Théoden neared, a soft smile on his lips as he looked at them. It was broken, of course. What did a king have to smile about when his people were in peril?

_Háma._ Gamling trailed after him, inclining his head as he passed. Háma and Gamling had been firm friends; that much was blatantly obvious. Another loss. No time to mourn.

_Estel._ His grip on his bow tightened, he could feel the carvings cutting into his flesh. His sworn brother. His friend. How could he be dead? The others were beginning to leave after the king, weary from the journey and fight. Gimli sighed as both he and Éowyn turned.

"Come on, lad." The dwarf's deep voice rumbled, but Legolas couldn't move.

He could feel the coil again, tensing and flexing inside his stomach. Why was there so much suffering? Why was so much blood spent so willingly? _Leave the dead._ He bowed his head, closing his eyes as nausea washed over him. His side burned, his insides twisted and jerked.

"Lad?" Gimli's voice was worried now, his tone unsure.

"Lord Legolas?" Éowyn's voice joined in; the clicking of their footsteps neared him.

_Leave the dead. _Something welled inside, the coil tensed further, his side roared, his chest clenched, his inside wrenched. _Leave them all._

_Oh Estel…_ The bow of the Galadhrim clattered to the floor as the coil was sprung.


	11. The Coil is Sprung

**A/N: **Yes, yes, I know, late again. This whovian obsession is turning into a possession, I'm really sorry. Plus, this chapter I've written and thought through about 10 times, I had no idea how to write it while keeping it to fit in with the story. From now on, my chapters will be a little shorter, about 2 and a half thousand words. It's just so that my capacity of interest can stretch far enough to write a chapter a week. Read on...

**Disclaimed**

* * *

**Starcrossed  
**The Coil is Sprung

Of all the horrendous noises in the world, none could compare to the agony of a scream; it was a scream that caused Théoden King to freeze mid-step. He slowly met Gamling's alarmed gaze, before both men spun abruptly on their heels and bolted back the way they'd came. Others had also turned in horror towards the direction of the noise, stopping to all gape together towards it. The king and his second in charge were forced to push through frozen gapers to reach the source, and what they eventually saw shocked them to the bone.

On the stone floor, writhing, twisting and screaming in utter agony, was the only elf in Rohan: Legolas Thranduillion. His fair face was contorted into a grimace, his limbs flying uncontrollably, jerking and shuddering as his mouth twisted into an agonized cry.

Théoden's eyes immediately scaled the elf's body for an injury, anything previously hidden, but found none. Legolas was in pain, and yet nothing showed to cause it…

He glanced around, seeing with distain that everyone seemed only to be staring, their fish gapes fixated on the thrashing archer. The only ones who seemed to be _able _to do anything were his niece and the dwarf. Éowyn was attempting in vain to hold down Legolas' bucking shoulders, whilst Gimli Gloin's son had thrown his entire weight over the kicking legs, attempting to still them and earning a fair few knocks in the process.

Théoden snapped out of his reverie, rushing forward with Gamling to the struggling duo and crouching to aid his niece with the elf's upper body. Legolas continued to writhe, his face plastered with a grimace and his wrenching cries of agony unending. Théoden was almost thrown off as he bucked with such force that the spectators gasped in fright. Gimli surrendered Legolas' legs to Gamling, who resorted to lying over them, and moved swiftly to Legolas' head, seizing his delirious face in calloused hands.

"What is it, lad???" He cried at the top of his lungs, his voice a bellow over the elf's yells, "Speak to me! I'm here!"

For a singly, short, sweet moment the elf stilled, his screams lapsing into gasps and pants, his cobalt fixated on Gimli's.

Théoden had never seen such fear in any eyes.

All that filled them were turmoil and desperation; it almost broke Théoden's resolve.

But then the moment was over, and Legolas screamed out again, his back arching cruelly from the ground.

"Gimli!" Came Éowyn's panicked yell, her wide eyes set on something.

They followed her gaze down to the elf's green jerkin, and finally found the source of his pain. There, on the green material, was dotted the red splatters of blood, originating from Legolas' side and increasing with every passing second. Gimli appeared torn, his muddy brown eyes staring sightlessly at the blood before, to everyone's surprise, he'd drawn his arm back and brought his fist smartly around the elf's temple. For a second Legolas seemed dazed, his eyes unfocused, before they rolled back into his head and he sagged down limply onto the floor.

There was silence.

They each stared down at Legolas' motionless form, shocked and immobile. None of them, not even seasoned warriors such as Théoden and Gimli, had ever experienced such a thing. And Théoden had once seen a man have his legs cut clean off.

"A stretcher." Théoden was the first to speak, his voice quiet and shaking, "Somebody fetch a stretcher… _now!_"

Their king's orders brought the gapers back into reality, and so they flustered, many returning to their posts while two others scoured for a stretcher. Slowly, the four stood whilst never taking their eyes from the unconscious elf.

"Has this happened before, Master Dwarf?" Gamling enquired quietly.

"Never, in the time I've known him, has he ever completely lost control such as this." Gimli replied, his murmur soft as he gazed sadly down at his close friend.

"And the wound?"

"The wound is an old one." Gimli's words shocked Théoden, and he whipped his head to face the dwarf, "I thought it had long since healed."

Théoden frowned, looking back down at the elf.

Legolas was certainly pale, that much was blatant, but he had thought that all elves were as such, and that it would be rude of him to enquire. It was now that he realised Legolas was not just pale, but ashen. His face was gaunt, with dark circles ringing his eyes and hollowed cheeks. He seemed so much frailer than he'd done merely minutes before. Théoden had seen Legolas fight with the skill and agility of ten men; it shocked him to think that all the while the archer had been in such ill health.

For the first time since their arrival, the king began to study the dwarf carefully. Gimli stood motionless, his grieving gaze never deterring from the elf and hands loosely curled around his axe. If not for the fiery beard and thick helm, both of which covered the most part of his face, Théoden would have thought the dwarf was close to losing control. Whether out of grief for his friend's condition or anger for those who caused him pain, Théoden was not sure. However, one thing was for certain; Gimli was almost as shocked as they were.

"My lord…"

Théoden turned, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the proffered stretcher; something little more than a colourless threadbare cloth tied firmly and securely between two, thick wooden poles. He sighed heavily; it would have to do.

Gimli watched passively as Gamling and a, somewhat nervous, soldier lifted the elf's lax body carefully onto it. Legolas stirred, his skin pallid, fists clenched and eyes scrunched firmly tight as he continued to battle with pain even in unconsciousness.

Théoden forced his eyes away as Gamling and the soldier bent and took hold of the wooden poles, bearing Legolas with uncanny ease. How light was an elf? He passed a hand over his weary eyes before turning and leading them passed the small crowd of people. Gimli, trudging at the stretcher's side with Legolas' bow, tightened his grip on his axe, glaring each person down and making sure no one looked for too long at the elf.

"What're you lookin' at?" He growled gruffly, "Haven't you got some work to be doing?"

Thankfully the hallways were near empty, and no questions were asked as they scaled each winding corridor towards their location. Théoden threw open the doors, striding forward into a dim room containing three beds and little else; the room he'd intended for the three hunters to have, though now it would house two rather than three. Éowyn lit the torches, lighting the room as the men set Legolas carefully down onto the bed.

Gimli's face was unreadable as Gamling and the soldier promptly left closing the doors behind him. Théoden lingered for an awkward moment before finally speaking.

"I shall send for a healer." He murmured quietly, meeting Gimli's gaze.

The dwarf nodded his thanks before sitting down beside the bed, calmly watching over his friend. The king took one last look at the elf before turning and sweeping silently from the room.

-

* * *

-

Gimli watched painstakingly as both Éowyn and the healer worked over Legolas. They'd removed the unconscious elf's jerkin and tunic, revealing his chest and the snaking gash on his side, split to bleed afresh. Gimli was quick to realise that it was indeed the very same wound from Moria, resurfacing grim memories anew. As a dwarf, he was well trained and experienced in keeping his emotions in check, but the sight of his leonine elven friend rendered immobile was enough to release a barrage of worry.

He could never forget the eyes; pale eyes that held far too much emotion for any soul, mortal and immortal alike. He'd never thought of immortality much, and even when he had it had only be envy the elves' eternal gift.

Only now did he realise how wrong he'd been. The immortals were fair and grateful, yes, but riddled with a hidden hurt. He'd always mistaken the reclusive nature and secrecy of the elves as snobbery, but now he knew it was not that. Not that at all.

They were merely distancing themselves from the short-lived, protecting themselves and others from grief. If a man was to befriend an elf, laugh with him, hunt with him, and even cry with him, was the end not inevitable? The man would whither and fade like the petals of a rose, while the elf would remain fair, strong and eternally youthful.

Was that not a burden on the elf? The closer the link, the stronger it was, the harder it broke.

The healer and Éowyn left, leaving him with his and the fitful elf, burrowed deep beneath blankets and covers. Gimli almost told them it was no use, that elves could not feel the cold, but upon noticing Legolas shiver, kept his mouth shut. He sighed heavily and slumped with his head in his hands. This was bad, _very_ bad.

It had always been said that the eyes never lie, and what he'd seen in the elf's eyes was like looking into the chasm of truth itself.

Oh, he knew how very wrong he was. Immortality was a curse.

-

* * *

-

"How is he?" Théoden son of Thengel stood at the foot of the bed, looking enquiringly at his niece as she busied herself.

"The wound has been stitched, but…" Éowyn sighed, folding a thin blanket as she looked up at him, "we have no clue as to his ailment. As Gimli said, the wound is an old one."

Théoden nodded thoughtfully, studying the figure on the bed before him. Legolas had yet to wake, even with the noises and speech going on about him. As the night passed he had become increasingly feverish, his skin shining brightly with sweat and breath emitted in short ragged gasps. Éowyn took the cloth from his forehead, soaking it again in water before replacing it.

The elf took no acknowledgement of her administrations or presence; his eyes squeezed tightly shut and face screwed up in pain. He turned his face sideways into the pillow, gasping garbles of elvish.

Théoden frowned, wishing he knew what the words meant. Though what actually scared him most was not the translation, but the way in which the language was spoken; such desperation and grief. The elf was _pleading_.

"It would do good to know what he says," Éowyn's voice broke his thoughts, as if reading his mind, "but none know the language of the elves. Except…"

She trailed off sadly, gazing down at the floor. Théoden sighed, striding towards her and folding her in his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head as he rubbed her back.

"These evil days shall pass, Éowyn." He murmured softly, holding her tight, "You shall not always know darkness and death."

She sighed against his shoulder, before pulling from the hug and smiling softly up at him. He smiled back, sharing the sweet moment with his sister daughter before it was broken by another gasp from the elf.

"_Estel!_"

Théoden knew no elvish, but the tone and urgency in which it was said was obvious. It wasn't merely a word, but a name; surely so?

"Was that a name of sort?" He asked softly, frowning as Éowyn merely seemed mystified.

"I know not." She replied, looking thoughtful as she gazed at Legolas, "though… I have heard him use it when speaking to Lord… Aragorn."

There was silent as the truth dawned on them both, and both gazed at the fitful elf with renewed sadness. Éowyn moved closer to Legolas' side, feeling his flushed cheek with a hand. She trailed her fingers softly along the small bruise, just beginning to blossom on his temple: a reminder of the measures they'd needed to go to the day before.

"Where is Lord Gimli?" Théoden asked after a moment.

"I managed to persuade him to eat in the hall." She replied quietly, reaching over the elf to untangle his long fingers from the bed sheets.

"Then I presume that he has been here for-" Théoden broke off abruptly, blinking vigorously. Had he seen correctly? Were his eyes fooling him?

As Éowyn had leaned over the elf, she had cast a shadow across his face and… the king was sure that, just for a moment, the elf's face had relaxed, albeit a little.

"Uncle?" Éowyn was looking up at him in confusion, her fair features pulled into a frown of puzzlement.

Théoden didn't answer as he strode to the elf side, hesitantly reaching out towards him. Slowly, he placed his hand over Legolas' eyes and covered them completely; the reaction was immediate, and his suspicions were confirmed. The archer's face relaxed almost completely, his grimace smoothing out and eyes relaxing somewhat. The king frowned, pulling his hand back again. Instantly, the elf's face contorted back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut once again, as if fending themselves from something…

Théoden straightened, turning back to his niece as she watched curiously.

"Éowyn, dim the lights."

* * *

**I will try. Seriously, I will!**


	12. Confessions

**A/N: **Yet again, I have shamefully promised you, and shamefully failed. Though to be fair, I was at my nan's for two weeks, and I actually have 3 GCSE exams coming up, one on the 14th, and two on the 18th, so I've been revising like mad! I still think I'm going to fail at least History but oh well. I confess that fangirl29 is right, I need to wait before I can swoon on David Tennant. I HAVE to keep with his story, because the ending I have in mind needs to be written! This chapter doesn't really have a cliffie to be honest, but still. (plus, not that anyone's mentioned it, I know starcrossed is actually spelt "star-crossed", but that doesn't really look effective, know what I mean?) Oh, and can I add SNOW SNOW SNOW! We had three off-school, snow days in a row, and that literally never happens in England. Read on...

* * *

**Starcrossed  
**Confessions

The first thing to hit Legolas Thranduillion as he woke was pain. Not the same excruciating pain as before, no, but a constant throb, residing in his head. It felt as though his brain had been set alight, and even as his eyes flickered beneath shut eyelids, further flares sparked to provoke a groan from him.

The cool touch of a hand on his forehead stilled him, and he subconsciously leaned into as it slowly moved to his cheek, revelling in the comfort. A flash of disappointment swept through him as the hand moved away, but only to be replaced with a damp cloth, dabbing at his burning cheeks and forehead. His lips curled marginally upwards in a brief smile, and he allowed a small sigh escape him before relaxing. Keeping completely still as the cloth retreated, he was relieved as the burning faded, albeit a little. The cool material pressing against his eyes also seemed to help… material?

His brow furrowed into a frown, his slender slowly reaching towards his face, his breath slowing his apprehension. With trepidation, his fingers found and carefully scoured what they sought, brushing against the crisp softness of cloth; cloth wrapped tightly and securely around his eyes.

Like a bolt of lightening he short upright from the bed, exclamations of surprise ringing like bells in his head as he somehow managed to roll off the bed in his haste. He hit the floor with a dull thud, pain shooting his side as he scrambled. Reassuring pleas yelled out over the din of panic, but his mind was already gripped in the throes of fear. His hands yanked at the cloth, ripping it from his head with one vicious pull. Nothing prepared him for what followed.

Before he'd even had the time to adjust his eyes did a blinding beam of light hit them, eliciting a cry of pain. It felt as though his very eyes had caught fire, and he yelled aloud as pain tore through them.

He threw his arm over them, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his face into the small burrow they made, attempting in vain to smother out the light.

It took a moment for him to hear the sobbing, and another to realise that it was he who was sobbing. And yet he couldn't stop himself, he could only tremble and cry, praying to the Valar that the suffering would stop. Soft arms wrapped around him, pulling him deep into them and towards a body too slim for a Gimli, and with clothing too soft for any other than a woman. He let the arms envelop him, feeling comfort in the warm embrace as the tears slipped unrelenting from beneath the cloth and rolled mockingly down his cheeks.

He knew that soon the hands would replace the cloth. Not that he cared. Not that it mattered,

Because he may as well have been blind.

.

* * *

.

Gimli son of Gloín sat passively in an armchair, settled comfortable in the cushioned object as he continued to gaze across the room, watching.

Legolas sat cross-legged on the bed, his pillows strewn abandoned behind him, the mattress untouched before him, staring down at his hands. Only, he wasn't staring, not really. Rather, his head was bowed as the white cloth, wrapped neatly around his eyes, blindly faced his lap. The elf wore a fine, white nightshirt, but bandages were still visible past the loose neck, binding Legolas' torso tightly. The very sight made Gimli's blood boil.

He wanted to use every orc to make a broth, and then feed the vile stuff to Saruman even if he to shove it down the foul snake's throat himself. He felt stringing them all in and hanging them upside down, before making sure that none of them would ever have… offspring.

In fact, he felt like doing a great deal of things to Saruman and his cronies, but all he did now was silently worry for his friend.

Legolas had begun wringing his hands and fiddling distractedly with the sheet, a slight crease visible on his brow as he frowned. Gimli sighed heavily, digging out his pipe before thinking better of it and stashing it back away as the elf opened his mouth to speak.

"I know what you want me to tell you, Mellon nîn," He began, his voice almost a whisper, "but I cannot… there is nothing to tell."

"Legolas," Gimli growled, "I have just witnessed you _shriek_ in pain, for reasons unknown to me! The very light ye so love _burns _your eyes, and still you say there's nothing to tell???"

The elf remained silent for a few moments, fiddling anxiously with the sheet, and it was a while before he replied

"Moria." He muttered, "It began in Moria."

"But Lady Galadriel had healed you." Gimli frowned deeply, leaning forward in his chair.

"She had." Legolas replied dismissively, "But she could not rid the poison; it runs in my veins even now."

"So what of it? What's going to happen, lad?" Gimli demanded, close to falling from his chair as he leaned ever further.

Legolas sighed, his shoulders sagging as he released the sheet, and Gimli immediately feared the worst.

"A year, Gimli." He whispered, "That is all that is left for me."

Gimli froze, staring disbelievingly at Legolas. His friend was going to die; it was inevitable. He may not have believed it, had it not been the Lady of Light herself who'd discovered the ill news.

But for an elf to die was unthinkable; let alone his brave, noble friend. How could it be so? It wasn't long since the elf had been fighting Wargs with the power and skill of ten- and dwarves for that matter, not that he'd admit it. Then he thought of everything else: the wan colour of Legolas' skin, the worrying touch of ribs beneath clothing… part of him wanted it not to be so, _believed _it not to be, but the other part knew it to be true. He'd never known an elf to lie. Oh, how he wished they would.

"Does anyone else know about this, lad?" He finally found the voice to ask.

"Gandalf suspected," Legolas murmured, "but he does not know. You are the only."

Gimli's throat worked soundlessly for something to say, but there was no use. What could he say? What could he say to a dying elf? Most importantly, what could he say to a dying friend? Should he console him? Should he condole him? Or should he simply be mute and disbelieving, as such.

His lacks of words frustrated him, but a hasty footman, knocking rapidly at the door before entering, saved him.

"My lords," he bowed quickly, "Théoden King asks for you in the main hall… He says Lord Aragorn has returned from the grave."

Shock rattled Gimli. What was this _confusing _turn of events? One friend dies, the other will soon die, and now the first had come back from the dead? Soon, his brain would explode. He knew not what to feel anymore.

"We'll be there in a moment." Gimli sighed as the footman left, running a weary hand over his eyes as he turned back to Legolas. The elf had also sat bolt upright, gaping at the door in surprise.

"Returned from the grave." He whispered, his voice torn with emotion, before surprising the dwarf by struggling off the bed, "Gimli! Ai, _blast this_, where are you?"

"Here, Laddie." He called, frowning in puzzlement as the elf whipped around to face him.

"Gimli! You must not tell him!" He pleaded, "You cannot tell him!"

Gimli's frown as he thought furiously. Not tell him? Was the elf mad? The ranger deserved to know what was happening to his closest friend. But Gimli looked into his friend's face and found himself nodding in agreement. It took a moment for him to realise he had to vocalise the confirmation.

"I will not, Laddie." He voiced as sincerely as he could.

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief, before a thought struck him and abruptly brought his hands to his ribs, then his backside, the cautiously to the sides of his thighs.

"Your weapons are safe, Laddie," Gimli reassured him, before picking a bundle up, "and your clothes are here."

Legolas smiled gratefully, allowing Gimli to push the bundle of clothes into his arms. The dwarf himself felt rude, but couldn't help but watch in amaze at the elf's strategic method. He first placed down the clothes on the bed and deftly felt each, putting them in the order of which he'd wear them. His hands worked efficiently through clasps, laces and other fiddly features with the practised ease of one who'd done the same without looking.

Secretly, Gimli envied the perfected limbs of the elf. He'd many a time become frustrated with his own short ones.

Legolas spent little more than minute dressing, and soon the two friends were scaling the hallways and corridors, Legolas trailing his hand cautiously along the wall and Gimli making no attempt to muffle his loud footsteps. It was lucky for Legolas that what he lacked in sight, he made up for in elven hearing. He stumbled at _least_ thrice, and almost walked into a wall on one occasion, but otherwise his physiology aloud him to cope.

Even so, Gimli could clearly see Legolas strain to hear everything, and easily noticed every badly disguised grimace and wince the elf made. He already looked as though he'd done all he could cope with, and Gimli was close to making the elf stop and rest, but they were rewarded with the sight of the main hall doors.

Slowly, gradually, the doors seemed to open of their own accord, and out came striding a tall man, with rich, black hair and wearing the garb of a ranger. What surprised Gimli, more than his even being there, was the state of the man and garb. There were more rips in the fabric than ever before, and through the rips was the visible sight of skin scratched and bruised. The man himself looked in need of a bath and a bed, but the concern in his eyes was evident as they settled on the sight of the elf.

"Legolas, Gimli." Aragorn said softly, "What has happened?"


	13. And So It Begins

**A/N: **I honestly thought that after David Tennant regenerated in Doctor Who, that I'd go back to obsessing over Legolas. Sadly, I instead caught sight of Samuel Sullivan from "heroes" ;( Amazing actor...  
So, my exams are officially over... Okay not really. The next ones aren't for another 4 months I think, and in my opinion, I think I only failed one of the three tests I just sat: Chemistry. Ah well. This chapter is kinda boring, sorry. The next few might be too, but I need to get the unnecessary stuff out the way, which is why this chapter seems a bit abrupt in some places, especially nearer the end. Read on...

**Disclaimed**

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* * *

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**Starcrossed  
**And So It Begins...

"Théoden was right, we have better chances at victory here… And now?"

"By the window on the right"

"Aragorn, you said it yourself. The Uruk-hai are massive in numbers!"

"But we have fought many wars, Gimli… And now?"

"The doorway."

"Not quite, a foot beside it."

"Aye, we _have _fought many wars… But let's not be forgetting these are no orcs!"

Aragorn sighed, running a hand through his shaggy hair as he strode across the room whilst his friends sat, Legolas on the bench and Gimli opposite him. Slowly, Aragorn began sidestepping cautiously, calling out to Legolas as he did.

"And now, Mellon nîn?"

Legolas frowned slightly, his brow furrowing as he listened intently.

"You are moving across the room to your left… side-stepping, I believe."

Aragorn nodded but allowed no happiness to his mind, his mood deadly serious as he drew his sword.

It had taken Legolas and Gimli all morning to dissuade Aragorn from gallivanting off and seeking revenge on the elf's behalf, and even then they had been hard-pressed to produce a lie convincing enough to hide Legolas' ailment. In the end they had recalled upon the Warg attack and settled on their blame, claiming that Legolas had not been as lucky as Gimli in the fight; Gimli had even characteristically argued that there was no luck involved, but swordsmanship.

Of course, the dwarf still disagreed with the decision to lie to the ranger, but even he was relieved to hear that Théoden spoken of nothing further than Legolas' blindness, and that Aragorn hadn't the contact with any others as of yet, not even Éowyn.

"Come, Mellon nîn, you will insist on fighting and I will not be able to stop you." Aragorn twisted the sword in his grip as he spoke, flexing his wrist, "But I will not send you to the warfront with naught if you cannot fight me."

Legolas sighed lightly, rising gracefully to his feet and pulling out his knives as he stepped carefully over to his friend. Aragorn swung an arc the moment he was within reach, and the elf immediately followed the swish of his sword with his mind, bringing both knives up to meet and deflect them. The movement was not as graceful as usual, not even _close_, but served the purpose of protecting him.

Both fighters leapt back from the clash, landing lightly on the balls of their feet as Aragorn intently watched the elf's movements, tracking every hesitation with the eyes of a hawk.

Without warning he swung again and Legolas managed to parry, hesitating as he swung a blow of his own; he was clearly afraid that in his blinded state he would wound his friend. A frown flitted onto the ranger's face as he dodged, side-stepping quickly to the side as Legolas spun away to avoid a backlash.

_Will he hesitate when it is not I, but an Uruk-hai charging towards him? _Aragorn wondered, before ducking a double slice. _Perhaps, perhaps not._

Aragorn continued his attack, cleverly avoiding injuring his friend but working his senses relentlessly. _Blow, swing, parry, parry… duck, stumble, regain footing, block._ Aragorn mentally noted down Legolas' every move, from the stumbles to the strengths, from the dodges to the hesitations.

Even without his sight the elf was still a reasonable fighter. By no means was he a fraction of what he once was, but even past the stumbles, hesitations and small mistakes he evaded any dangerous attacks.

_Though perhaps I have judged too soon,_ Aragorn rethought as he swung low and Legolas jumped to avoid it, before stumbling on landing and ending heavily on his knees, Aragorn's sword posed at his neck.

The two remained like that for a short moment, catching their breaths as Gimli puffed anxiously on his pipe. The dwarf's eyes flitted nervously from the elf to the ranger, and his sigh of relief was loud and evident as Aragorn withdrew his sword with a satisfied nod, sheathing his sword again as Legolas rose to his feet and cautiously found his own knives.

"By no means am I happy, Mellon nîn, yet…" Aragorn murmured, scratching thoughtfully at his beard, "You still retain the skill of many men… Come, we must prepare for the fight."

With that he turned and stalked off, and Legolas was left to nod at the air before following with Gimli as the three strode silently through the corridors and hallways.

In no more than half a minute had the able sighted of the three become increasingly grim as they walked, passing many war-fitted men; some old and with brittle bones, others with cherubic sullen faces and a head full of hair: these were no men.

"Farmers, ferriers, stable boys." Aragorn muttered bitterly as they passed a sobbing young boy, "These are no soldiers."

"Most have seen too many winters." Gimli chipped in.

"Or too few..." Legolas finished softly, the sobs reaching his ears.

_Old, young, inexperienced… Estel is right, these are certainly no soldiers. Their scared and I need no eyes to see it; I can feel it in the air, in my bones. And so they should be frightened… Three hundred men… against ten thousand! Yes, they have a better chance here then perhaps at Edoras, but this is a battle we cannot win… they are all going to die!_

Legolas listened to the thuds of Gimli's boots, then to the softer steps of Aragorn. The ranger was worried, even if he didn't care to admit it. He'd the heart of a true king, noble and true to his entire kingdom, kin and those of his allies. Legolas sighed.

…_and if Estel dies as one of them… Middle-Earth will be lost._

But before he could reconsider his thoughts a startling sound rang through the air; a clear hoot loud and resonating.

"That is no orc horn!" Legolas cried, turning on his heels and sprinting, dodging the voices and making sure to follow the exact same path as the running footsteps of Aragorn, with the slower thuds of Gimli lagging behind them both. _Descending… why are Estel's steps descending? Ah, stairs. _Legolas flitted elegantly down them and came to a halt at the bottom, stood beside the steady breathing of Aragorn, and the slower of Théoden. Immediately ahead of them stood rows of many silent breathing beings, their breaths graceful…and _familiar_.

The _Elves_ had come to Helms Deep. _But how?_

"I bring word from Lord Elrond of Rivendell. An Alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago we fought and died together." Spoke the rich and regal voice of Haldir, his tone deep and proud, "We come to honour that allegiance."

There was a shocked pause that rippled through the men, before Aragorn let out a short, relieved laugh and rushed forward to embrace the marchwarden.

"Mae govannen, Haldir!" He exclaimed happily, releasing him from the bone-crushing hug, "You are most welcome!"

Legolas smiled also, stepping forward to greet Haldir, his breath held with trepidation. His offered arm was gripped in return with enthusiasm, but seemed to linger for an almost undetectable moment; a message.

"We are proud to fight alongside Men once more." Haldir stated; his smile evident in his voice.

Theoden chuckled gladly, striding forward and talking quickly with Haldir of battle arrangements. It did not take long for the two to come to a satisfied agreement before Aragorn took charge of the elves, leading them to their places as Haldir lingered behind with Legolas.

"It has gotten worse." Haldir murmured in elvish; it was not a question but a statement and his tone voiced the graveness of it all.

"Yes, not long ago." Legolas murmured back, running his hands over his bow. _I have forgotten to practise, _he thought instinctively. _It is too late now._

Haldir was silent for a moment, and the Elven prince had the feeling that he was being watched, scrutinised even as the silence drew out uncomfortably.

"Why?"

Not _how _but _why._ Haldir clearly knew everything there was to know about his ailment, perhaps even more. Perhaps he even knew _when_, or _what after_.

_Perhaps he looks at me now with pity…_

"I had thought Estel to be dead." Legolas admitted with a quiet sigh, turning his face to the floor, "I had thought _hope_ to be dead."

"Hope is _never_ dead, Thranduillion." Haldir disagreed with a small woeful sigh, his voice low and grave with sorrow, "You know what this means… Are you even fit to battle?"

"Even if I was not, I would do so anyway." Legolas told him with strength, "I'll not fade from this world while my friends contribute in battle and I sit useless in solitary."

Haldir sighed again, shifting his weight uncomfortably as the two began to slowly walk to their positions at the wall.

"What never ceases to amaze me," He began, ascending the stone staircase, "is the pride of the elves of Eryn Lasgalen. You will be careful?"

"I will. You need not worry about me, Haldir." Legolas reassured him, as they neared the heavy breathing of Gimli.

"I hope I shall have no cause to. I should like to see you in one piece if we survive this." Haldir replied, his voice rich with amusement, "Until then you need not look for trouble, it will come to you!"

Legolas smiled as Haldir's chuckles slowly faded away as the roars of the orcs neared.

"Whatever luck you live by... let's hope it lasts the night." Gimli suddenly spoke, presumably to the presence behind them; Aragorn.

"Your friends are with you, Aragorn." Legolas said softly, as Gimli began to shift restlessly.

"Let's hope _they_ last the night." The dwarf added, and the ranger chuckled wryly, clapping their shoulders before moving off while issuing elven orders.

Gimli shifted again, evidently frustrated as he jumped up and down on the balls of his feet in a bid to see over the wall.

"What's happening out there?" He finally exclaimed, sighing in exasperation.

"Shall I describe it to you?" Legolas enquired innocently to his smaller friend, a smile playing on his lips, "Or would you like me to find you a box?"

For a moment the dwarf seemed mystified, before letting out a gruff bark of laughter, forgetting completely their situation.

Oh, how Legolas wished all worries would extinguish so easily.

But of course, that was not the case. All that filled the air was the screams and garbles of the barbaric orcs and Uruk-hai and creatures alike. He could smell their foul stench even from there.

Was that the stench of death?

"FIRE!"

_And so it begins…_

_-  
_


	14. Remonstrated

**A/N: **Okay, you're probably sick of my excuses by now, but I actually do have a legit reason this time. I pretty much shattered my stronger hand into pieces. I tried to write a short oneshot for Prison Break and almost lost my will to live by the end of it. Do you know how annoying it is to try and type with your weak hand? Let alone write? So here we go with this chapter, took my a whole day just to slowly, slowly, type it up. It is pretty bad, since my hiatus means I need to get back into the swing of things. So, so, so, sorry that its two months late :(

**Disclaimed**

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**Starcrossed**  
Remonstrated**  
**

Legolas yelled as he swung his knives, decapitating an orc as the battle raged around him. In front, he heard an unsure, garbled whimper followed by the swishing of chain mail, and the warrior cry of the only dwarf within a league.

"AHAAA!" Gimli roared as the orc squealed, the sound of spilt blood reaching the elf's ears, "_24_, LAD!"

"_26_, Gimli!" Legolas yelled back, swinging his bows around as two orcs came racing past, effectively downing both, "28!"

Around him the humid air of dawn was filled with nothing but the sound of yells and squeals, clangs and clashes, triumphant wails and warrior cries parried with orc wails; the battle of Helms Deep was certainly proving to be a laborious one, but from Legolas' hearing, Uruk and orc death rattles outnumbered those of elves and men. They were winning.

He allowed a wry smile to creep onto his lips as he plunged his remaining knife into an orc's stomach, before wrenching it out and slicing another's throat. But through its dying gurgles came another sound, loud and clear through the music of war: a horn. _Mithrandir._

A loud cheer rippled through the side of men and elves, and in the matter of moments the squeals of orcs and Uruk-hai doubled three-fold, each ugly creature left with no hope of triumph as the wave of men, elves, wizard and dwarf flew through them, hacking and sawing their way to victory and glory. It took only a minute before those on the opposing side were completely annihilated, their dark blood painting the weapons of the joyous allies. Each warrior, regardless of race, seized the nearest living figure in a gallant hug, and Legolas found himself in the crushing embrace of a delighted man; Éomer, he concluded, by way of his height and the sound of his whooping. Laughing, he returned the hug with a whoop of his own.

Eventually, grim seriousness crept back into the hearts of the allies as each broke from their embrace, ominous eyes scouring the ground and walls for dead. Legolas shouldered his bow, sheathed his knife, and made a mental note to find the other as he carefully listened for the voice of his friends.

"Legolas!" Came first the voice of the ranger, weary from battle, yet relieved for the victory.

The elf waited patiently as Aragorn arrived to stand beside him, panting for breath and wiping his sword clean.

"You have survived then."

"As have you, Mellon nîn." Legolas smiled, "I am glad."

"And _I'm_ glad that _you're_ glad." Aragorn chuckled, before breathing a sigh. There was a companionable silence between the two friends before the dwarf finally arrived on the scene.

"How many, lad?" Was the first thing he huffed; his voice brought higher a pitch in anticipation.

"37." Legolas told him, sensing the obvious hesitation before the dwarf roared with laughter.

"I have beaten you again, Legolas!" Gimli boasted proudly, "38!"

"38?" Legolas repeated, head cocked in mock consideration, "Well, then, Mellon nîn, I shall have to learn to keep up."

"Aha, that you will, lad!" Gimli's grin was evident in his voice, "That you will."

Legolas sighed and shook his head to himself, smiling as he turned to Aragorn.

"Where is Haldir?"

There was silence for a few moments, a silence long enough that Legolas prayed it was merely because Aragorn was thinking, not because…

"I cannot recall seeing him, Legolas." Aragorn finally said, his voice soft yet puzzled, "Have you, Gimli?"

"Can't say that I have… You don't think he's… erm…" Gimli sounded unsure of himself, and Legolas knew what the dwarf was implying.

But it couldn't be. Maybe the elf leader was merely directing the injured elves; maybe he was just looking for them just as they were for him. Surely not…

No, Mithrandir had gone, but he'd come back. Estel had gone, but he also had returned. Surely, now, His mind was simply tricking him into pessimism.

Maybe.

Maybe not…

"Thranduillion!" Legolas jumped half a foot into the air when a hand suddenly clapped his shoulder, "Ai, Legolas, calm down. I cannot describe how good it is to see you in one piece; all three of you in one piece!"

"Haldir." Legolas couldn't help but grin as the elven leader joined them, "Are you well?"

"I am very well. Though, I found myself a sticky situation while retreating. But it is no matter, I found something while recovering."

The marchwarden pressed something into his hand, and Legolas smiled once again: his long-lost knife.

"Hannon le, Haldir." Legolas thanked him, "I was not looking forward to searching for it."

"I would have thought not." Haldir agreed as Legolas sheathed the knife in with its twin, "Though you may not have it at all, if not for Mithrandir."

"Well, it is a very good thing I arrived in time then." Another voice, deep and booming, joined them as Gandalf graced them with his presence, "And a very good thing Éomer was not too hard to find."

"I wish I had never left." Éomer joined them now, alongside him his king.

"This battle is just one of many, I am _glad_ that my sister-son arrived at all." Théoden smiled at them all, clapping Éomer's back as the seven shuffled closer to listen to his words, "and there is word that Isengard has fallen to the hands of the tree-herders, including two young hobbits from what Gandalf has told me."

"Merry and Pippin fought at Isengard?" Aragorn enquired, intrigued by this piece of information.

"Aye, under the protection of Treebeard. They got their fight, after all." Gandalf pondered almost to himself, before quickly turning his attention back to the present, "But Saruman remains in his tower, a coward hiding from his bad deeds. He will not come down… we must go to him."

"Go to Isengard?" Éomer repeated incredulously, "Is that wise?"

"Have no worry, Éomer." Gandalf reassured him, "We are quite safe in the presence of Saruman; he is helpless."

"And the trees?" Théoden enquired.

"Elves and trees have been allies for many a millennia." Haldir answered for the wizard, "I have all faith in that friendship."

"Then to Isengard we shall go."

"But, Alas, I must first attend to the wounds of an elf warrior; his wounds are beyond the help of any healer." Gandalf sighed resignedly, and a few of the group murmured in pity for the elf.

"Would you like my aid, Gandalf?"

"No, Aragorn, you must help Théoden King and Éomer. Though I daresay the elf could use some companionship from a familiar face…" Gandalf pondered aloud once again, "Legolas, would you join me? I would ask Haldir but I'm sure that he also has matters to attend to."

"Of course, Mithrandir." Legolas agreed, inclining his head. He knew exactly what the wizard meant to do, for he was certain there was no wounded elf present. Or rather, none more wounded more than him.

"Very well, Gandalf. We will ride at dusk." Théoden inclined his head before striding away with Éomer, Aragorn and Gimli following, whilst Haldir went his separate way with another clap on Legolas' shoulder.

For a few moments there was silence between wizard and elf; the latter grew an uncomfortable pit in his stomach, and a foreboding sense of what was to be said.

"I know, Thranduillion, precisely what is the matter." Gandalf spoke after a while, grim resignation heavy in his voice as he sighed, "Was it not hard just to tell me?"

Legolas remained silent.

"Speak, Thranduillion, for I know you have a tongue."

"Will you tell the others?"

"Why would I not?"

"I do not want pity."

There was silence again, and Legolas could sense that Gandalf was studying him, considering his words; most likely he would even be squinting slightly, as was his customary pose.

"Then what do you want, Thranduillion?"

"…To fight." Legolas started hesitantly at first, gulping slightly. Why was it that the wizard always brought him to the mental state of an elfling? He could feel his own mind searching for the appropriate words. Such feelings must be presented accordingly, not thrown about callously like a child's doll. Serious thoughts need serious understanding.

"I do not want to wither away on a bed, Mithrandir, listening to the battle rather than _participating_. I've been told that strength is needed to fight my ailment, but how will I draw strength from pitiful glances and mourning flowers? I draw strength from the battlefield. It is where I belong."

"No, where you belong is in the trees you so love, Legolas." Gandalf murmured.

"Not at a time such as this. If the hobbits can fight, why can't-"

"-the hobbits do not have an illness that will most certainly kill them." Gandalf interrupted firmly, but gave a resigned sigh, "but I know I cannot deter you, Thranduillion. Fight, as you wish, if it gives you strength. Any warrior is lucky to have you defending his back… but for now at least allow me to inspect your wound."

Legolas nodded, using his ears to carefully follow the same path as the wizard. It wasn't long before they arrived somewhere; a discreet room tucked far into Helms Deep far from the other warriors and peasants.

"Lie down on the bed, Legolas."

Legolas obliged, finding the bed easily and lay down, waiting patiently as Gandalf pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down. A moment later he felt hands pulling away his jerkin, lifting his tunic, and then heard Gandalf's sigh. _He seems to be sighing a lot of late._

"Sweet Eru…"

That was not a reaction Legolas expected from the wizard. Surely Gandalf had seen much more gory wounds, unless, of course, it had become worse. He didn't want to think about what could have happened if Haldir had truly been killed.

"You cannot come to Isengard."

"Why? Had you not been listening to me, outside?"

"Do not give me tongue, Thrnaduillion. If you could see you would not think to oppose me in this decision."

Legolas frowned, irritation creeping up on him as he realised the wizard was using the very same voice he'd use on him as an elfling. One reserved for remonstrating.

"I am not an elfling, Mithrandir."

"No, but you are still young."

"But not as a man."

Gandalf paused, sighing yet again. Legolas could imagine his movements, possibly he'd be pinching his nose, eyes closed, muttering silently to himself and shaking his head at the elf's stubbornness.

"With the _stubbornness _of an elfling, Thranduillion." Gandalf's word supported his imagination.

"Very well, you may come to Isengard. But in the presence of Saruman, and within earshot of his wicked tongue, do not be surprised if your plan crumbles before you, young Prince. Do not say I had not warned you."


	15. We Shall Have Peace

**A/N:** Woot, my hand's much better! Thanks for the well wishes :) I slapped myself the other day when I realised I forgot a very important message in my last two or three notes... I love you, faithful reviewers! I'm sure a lot of people have already lost interest in the story due to my inablility to post a chapter a week, but I'll keep trying. I've got a maths test on Monday then I'm scot free until November! YAY! Watched the Fellowship of the Ring again the other day, and despite the fact that I've literally seen it about 27 times, Boromir's death scene STILL has me close to tears. Sean Bean and Viggo Mortensen are both amazing actors. Oh, the chapter after this is going to be SO much fun to write! :D Read on...

**D**

* * *

**Starcrossed  
**We Shall Have Peace

_He was back at Amon Hen. And he could see. He could see the leaves upon the floor, the green of the trees, the white froth of the river Anduin before him as the bellow of Rauros filled the air. But why was he here? What importance had this dream, this vision? He took in a deep breath, sucking in the fresh air as his eyes fluttered closed, palms facing the river. He pushed aside his confusion to relish in the beauty, allowing nature to still his fears. His breathing slowed. He was calmed._

"_Always a lover of nature, indeed, Master Elf?" A deep voice broke his peace._

_Startled, the elf whirled around, eyes wide and crouched in a defensive stand as the leaves whipped in protest at his feet. The speaker simply smirked at him, his fair and handsome face grinning as stormy grey eyes glinted amusedly at him. He stood leaning nonchalantly against a gnarled tree trunk, forearms void of the rich patterned vambraces that had once adorned them, his bare hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his side._

_He was a ghost, surely. Legolas knew this was not real; this was a dream. He knew fully well that the man was dead, and the figure before him now was just a vision, a figment of his imagination. He'd shed tears for this man, held remorse for his death. But he'd also laughed with this man, watched as he played with the halflings, and witnessed his fierce loyalty to any who gained it. That was enough for him to want to believe._

_He didn't care if he wasn't real._

_Just the sight of him had Legolas starting happily towards him, a delighted laugh springing with ease from his mouth and arms half-open to embrace him._

_No, he didn't care if he wasn't real._

_But that was until he looked further than he saw._

_He saw skin deathly white, as if all blood had long ago fled. He saw a sickly paleness, furthered all the more by a dark smudge or two on the speaker's brow. And he saw three arrow shafts, ugly and black, protruding grotesquely like beastly leeches from his broad chest. Legolas froze in his place, eyes wide and shining with unshed tears._

"_What's the matter, Legolas? You will not embrace an old friend?" Boromir enquired, grin widening._

.

Legolas woke with a start, chest heaving and shoulders shuddering as the others slept on. The dark of night gave a much appreciated and welcome opportunity for him to temporarily regain his sight, with the sun long gone and only the light of the moon to inconvenience him, even then it bothered him little as he slipped off the protective cloth from around his eyes. Aragorn sat a little way off, the spiralling smoke of his pipe rising silhouetted against the dim light of the moon as he looked over at the elf.

"What is the matter, mellon nîn?" The ranger enquired quietly, frowning as he shifted to face him.

"It is nothing." Legolas shook his head, blinking at his friend, "A dream, 'tis all."

Aragorn nodded, but his frown didn't fade in the slightest as he stood and walked over to Legolas, sitting down beside him.

"Is there something you are not telling me, Legolas?" He enquired softly, "I feel that you are distressed, but are too stubborn to speak."

Legolas simply sat up, watching his breath fog in front of him by the cold wind, before looking around at the other figures, all of them in the midst of peaceful and deep sleep. Gimli was snoring as per usual, whilst Théoden King slept near his sister-son, lying on his back as Éomer slept on his side, facing Théoden as if he'd at one point been watching his uncle. Both Haldir and Gandalf slept with wide eyes, looking almost dead under the moon if not for the telltale fog of their breath. Legolas rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before sighing and looking back at his friend.

"It is nothing, mellon nîn." He repeated softly, smiling reassuringly at Aragorn, "Dream will do me no harm. Allow me to relieve you of watch; I shall like to recollect my thoughts a while."

Aragorn studied him for a short while, seemingly assessing his options, before giving into the weight of his eyelids and nodding. Settling onto his bedroll and drawing up his blanket, Aragorn fell fast asleep, leaving the elf with his thoughts.

Legolas sat at watch the whole night, waking neither Éomer nor Gandalf for their shifts.

He knew fully well that sleep would not come to him for a long while.

* * *

The King's golden hair flew in the wind as they rode, all seven warriors regal and silent atop their horses as the sun slowly faded into the landscape, turning the lands around them a burn orange colour that almost gave the deadened grass an appearance of fire. On Théoden's right was Éomer: his sister-son and heir now that his own son had passed. Nevertheless, Théoden's raising of his sister's children from a tender age had brought them close. He'd loved his sister dearly, so much so that the grief of her passing almost consumed him had it not been for Éomer and Éowyn; he cared sincerely for them, they may as well have been his own children.

But when Théoden looked back at the recent past, he was angered. Angered by Grima's wicked tongue, angered by the bad-comings of the age, but most of all he was angry, that in his state of delirium, he'd neglected them… Even _banished_ Éomer! His disbelief was only countered by the pride he held, that his sister-son -despite Théoden's wrong doings- had come back to him, to fight for his home. The gift of courage and duty was a great thing indeed, especially as Éomer would be the next King of Rohan.

In fact, Aragorn- a lone ranger- would never have struck him as rightful royalty if not for his abundant qualities of courage and duty. The man- older than him, imagine!- held his head high with bravery. Though, there were fleeting moments when it was plain to see the burden he carried. Not just of his duty to the creatures of Middle-earth, but of things and event already past, as if ghosts rode on his shoulders and Aragorn couldn't shake them off- or perhaps, didn't _want _to. As if the ranger would rather remember than forget, as if their spirits kept him company, gave him strength, gave him the _will_ to carry on- a reason to fight. Théoden knew that if his sister-son were even as half as noble as Aragorn, he would be a fine king, indeed.

And his followers… well, his allies would total to a great number if his friends were as varied as those who rode alongside them now: a wizard, a dwarf, and _two _elves. He would never have to fear a thing if his allies were as committed as these, each holding a love for the ranger as strong as the force holding them to the very ground they walked on. Any waiver of dedication, and Théoden wondered whether they might all float off into the sky…

Wearily, he sighed, smiling discreetly to himself as the riders reached a tittering halt and Isengard came into full view, the tall and once imposing tower now weak and childish next to the giants of the forest. His smile widened as they rode nearer, and the full extent of damage- and _humility_- became clearer. Isengard was flooded- _flooded!_- with the tree-herders trudging about the place as if it was their own, which, in fact, it now was. The King of Rohan found himself wondering whether Saruman could swim, and contemplating how long a wizard could be submerged in the aquatic conditions before drowning. The thought was a most pleasing one.

"Welcome, my lords!" A loud and happy call came as they emerged from the trees, and Théoden blinked away his amazement at the sight of two children- or rather, two small people- sat and stood atop the broken wall, "To Isengard!"

_These must be the Hobbits_, Théoden thought to himself, as the one who'd called out to them grinned happily while the other sat on the wall with a pipe in hand, giggling.

"You young rascals," Gimli growled from behind Legolas, "A merry hunt you'd led us on, and now we find you… _feasting_ and…and _smoking!_"

His half-hearted reprimand only led to more laughter, and the one with the pipe now spoke up.

"We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few _well earned_ comforts." He told them with glee, before lifting his pipe slightly and raising a small eyebrow, "The salted pork is _particularly _good."

Gandalf, seemingly accustomed to such behaviour, simply rolled his eyes as the dwarf closed his mouth, just short of drooling. Both Hobbits giggled again, but both also seemed to sober as their gaze drifted to Legolas and his covered eyes, their eyebrows drooping and smiles fading a little. The one with the pipe seemed to look over at the other, who recovered with a small, awkward cough and continued.

"We're under orders from Treebeard," He said, vaguely flapping a lazy hand to a direction behind him, "Who's taking over management of Isengard."

"Very neatly done, Meriadoc." Gandalf told him with a smile, "Very neatly done, indeed."

The hobbits beamed at the compliment as the riders rode forward, before they dropped down from the wall, with the pipe-smoker (Pippin, as Aragorn had whispered across to him) clambering up to sit behind Aragorn, and the other (Merry) behind Éomer. Both Hobbits, it seemed, were not to be judged, with everyone treating them as the tallest of warriors despite their small statures.

However, Théoden saw that, though both had seemed excited and talkative at first, both also glanced frequently at Legolas. As part of the fellowship of the one ring, Théoden knew the two hobbits had most likely been exposed to death and injuries, yet the young Pippin had all the innocence and curiosity of, indeed, children as his troubled gaze landed on the elf.

"Hello, there." Merry, on the other hand, seemed to have already learnt the risks of war, and now struck a casual conversation with Éomer. "I'm Merry, who are you?"

"Éomer." Théoden's sister-son replied deadpan, eyes ahead as he showed no emotion.

"Éomer…" Merry tasted the name, before grinning toothily, "It's a lovely name! I once had an aunt called Éomendrída. But, obviously, she was a lady… Had the same hair as you though! Very pretty and golden."

Éomer, a man unaccustomed to smiling in such times, could not but help a smirk; the sight warmed Théoden's heart.

"Aye, but not as pretty as my sister's."

The two hobbits giggled as the men, elves and dwarf chuckled deeply, their horses slowing as they approached a large Ent. Treebeard, his name was, and apparently the one who'd led the siege on Isengard.

"He was a scary sight!" Pippin told them eagerly as Treebeard's moss deepened a colour- blushing, as Théoden figured out for himself.

"Ahh, Master Peregrin." Treebeard talked slowly, his deep and rumbling voice drawing out each and every syllable to an almost impossibly sustained length, "I am sure young Master Gandalf knows well enough of yours and Meriadoc's own heroics."

"I do indeed, my dear Ent." Gandalf smiled at the large tree, before glancing around at the others and motioning to them in a single gesture, "My friends here, on the other hand, are those responsible for the victory at Helms Deep. Théoden King, Éomer son of Éomund, Gimli son of Gloín, Aragorn son of Arathorn, Legolas Thranduilion, and Haldir of Lórien."

"My, it is good to have the company yet again of the fair folk." Treebeard rumbled, bits of loose bark dropping from him as he bowed lightly to all, and then to both Legolas and Haldir.

"And we, indeed, feel much the same in the presence of the Ents." Haldir returned gracefully, bowing his head as he lightly touched his hand to his heart- the very same gesture he'd made when arriving at Helms Deep, "Lord Elrond had not gave mention of your plans."

"Why, not even the Lady of the Wood could have foreseen this, my dear Elf." Treebeard chuckled deeply, his bass booming and rumbling as he turned and gestured up towards the tower balcony, "But now, there is a wizard to manage here, locked in his tower…"

A sense of dread filled Théoden, face grave as he gazed upwards at the tower, hands subconsciously on his reins.

"Be careful." Gandalf warned in a low voice, "Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous."

"Then let's just have his head and be done with it." Demanded Gimli gruffly, only to have Gandalf rebuff him.

Théoden would have smiled were it not for the sudden interruption.

"**You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King." **

The cold and cruel sound of Saruman's cursed voice drifted down to them, deep and hateful _even _as he spoke of peace.

"Can we not take council as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace?"

For a short, short moment, Théoden bowed his head, closing his eyes as the images of the crying children; the dying men; the poor women of _his _Rohan swirled in his head. All the people killed, all the deaths at the hand of this murderous traitor.

"We shall have peace..." He started softly, nodding his head lightly," We shall have peace, when you answer for the burning of the Westfold, and the children that lie dead there!" He let the strength of his heart take his voice as he raised his head, and bellowed up to the rotten wizard, "We shall have peace, when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they dead against the gates of the Hornberg, are avenged! _When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows! _We shall have _peace..._"

Saruman simply sneered at him, leaning forward on his staff as he looked overbearingly down his long _beak_ of a nose at them. Another figure crept forward to the tower's edge, peering fearfully over, the pale face and dark eyes anxious as they gazed down at the nine.

"Gibbets and crows! _Dotard! _What do_ you_ want, Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess. The key of Orthanc? Or perhaps the keys of Barad-Dur itself? Along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the five wizards?" His spite grew with each item of the list.

"You can not win, Saruman." Gandalf called up wearily, voice heavy, "Your armies are lost."

"Old friend, my armies maybe lost. But so are many of your warriors." Saruman straightened, lips peeling back into a maniacal smile, triumphant and ugly to witness, "A certain _Elven Prince, _for example?"

The words confused Théoden, they meant nothing to him, but the ranger's head whipped immediately Legolas, eyes confused and scouring for any hint of emotion as Haldir looked to the floor, and Gandalf sighed heavily. Saruman simply relished in Legolas' discomfort as the elf squirmed slightly in the sudden attention. _The elf is a prince?_

"A shame, is it not? For such a fine warrior's demise to be at the hands of measly poison?" Saruman laughed cruelly, cold eyes alight with depravity. Aragorn's eyes bore into Legolas, his gaze inwrought with hurt and confusion and anger, as the elf's grip tightened on his bow. Théoden wondered whether it would be Aragorn's gaze that would pierce Legolas first, or Legolas' arrow that would pierce Saruman.

"Saruman, enough-" Gandalf attempted to put a stop to Saruman's mocking, but the other wizard would not halt for anything.

"Gandalf," The name was spat in revulsion, "does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him. Those he professes to _love._" Saruman leaned further still, "Tell me, _old friend_, does Denethor know yet of his eldest son's death? Curious, is it not, how you spare not a thought for the one you'd known for _all his life_?" Gandalf tiredly closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips as his shoulders sagged and head lowered, and Saruman knew instantly that he'd struck a chord, "I had heard the boy fell whilst protecting your _precious_ halflings."

Boromir? Surely not the Captain General of Gondor. Surely not the strong-hearted man whom Théoden himself had warmly welcomed oh so many times into his kingdom. Surely, not the warrior, the firm friend of both Theodred and Éomer; Denethor's heir was a mighty man; surely he'd not fallen too?

"Legolas." Gimli's gruff voice growled.

"Surely, it plagues you to picture the sight of _dear_ Boromir's body riddled with arrows of the Uruk-Hai?" Saruman's laughter was loud and long. From the corner of his eye, Théoden could see his fellows were set to relieve the Wizard of his head and organs.

"Legolas, stick a damned arrow in his gob!"

"After _you _all but condemned him!"

"_ENOUGH!_" Gandalf's roar was loud and echoing, his face a picture of fury as he raised his staff at Saruman, the crystal atop it glowing ferociously, brighter than a star.

Saruman's own staff shook, quaking and moving against the traitorous wizard's hand as it too glowed, before splintering with a loud _'CRACK'_ and exploding, sending shards and shrapnel about the place as Saruman was left to stagger back, shocked and surprised at Gandalf's newfound power.

"Your staff is broken, Saruman." Gandalf told him solemnly, the fury gone as soon as it had appeared, "No longer have you any power here."

His words were truthful, and at this the simpering sight of Grima Wormtongue hesitated, tongue darting over his lips like a trapped snake. Despite everything, the pain and horror Théoden had unknowingly committed by the fault of Grima, despite the fact that Wormtongue was a traitor and a sheep, Théoden felt a twinge of pity as he looked upon the terrified figure who'd once upon a time been his faithful servant. There was a time when Grima had just been a young and sickly boy beneath his mother's elbow, cowering in fear as he did now.

"Grima." Théoden called softly up to him, speaking with love and gentle compassion, "You were not always like this, Grima. You were a man of Rohan- come down. Be free of him."

"_Free?_" Saruman spat with disbelief, still furious from the loss of his staff and power, "_He will never be free!_"

"No…" A small voice spoke from behind Saruman; Grima shook his head in denial, eyes boring into the wizard, "I will be free."

And as Saruman turned to strike him, not even Théoden could track Grima's movements as he drove the dagger into the traitor's back, again and again and again, until Saruman no longer cried out. Saruman fell, spinning limply in the air multiple times before a spiked wheel stopped him. Théoden turned his gaze away in disgust, looking up instead, at Grima.

"Come, Grima." He called, and Wormtongue immediately bowed, disappearing as he scurried down to join them.

All watched in silence as the wheel spun slowly with the corpse' weight, and the filth of Saruman was washed away with the mud and debris. The dead of Rohan were avenged. The fallen trees of Fangorn were avenged. Boromir was avenged.

Now, there was peace from Saruman.


	16. Growing Hope

**A/N: **12 days since my last post :) Getting better my lovely reviewers and readers! Thanks a bunch for your support and kindness! *applauds you all* Hit the big one five yesterday, so I promised myself I'd meet deadlines for everything. Unfortunately that also includes homework... *grumbles* Ah well, this chapter was _very_ fun to write. Especially after the load of exams (Maths went great by the way.) There's not a whole lot of angst, but the chapter after this will have plenty enough of that, so fear not for the whumpiness. I should also say that- as explained at the end of chapter 11 and beginning of chapter 12- Legolas' sight is affected by the light, he's not totally and completely irrevocably blind. But don't worry about that, I won't be mentioning his sight again anyways. Read on...

**I**

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**Starcrossed  
**Growing Hope  
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To say he was disappointed would be a lie. To say he was musing would also be a lie. To say he was angry would be an understatement. No, Aragorn, son of Arathorn was furious. A small pit of fiery coal formed in the ranger's stomach, threatening to become an uncontained rage as he restlessly stalked back and forth like a predator, a firm grip on the hilt of the sword at his waist. His rugged coat whipped behind him as he spun once again on his heels to grind his teeth in the opposite direction, resembling very much a brooding sorcerer to any who looked on- if there were any capable of it at present.

The others were resting just before the tree line, under the darkening sky as they made camp; Aragorn could hear them make the occasional banter as he paced, though cared not to listen. He'd excused himself not long before, using the reason of wood gathering for the fire and scouting for a water supply, neither tasks of which he had any intention of doing. The others most likely knew this, maybe realising when the ranger had purposefully seized Legolas' wrist as he passed the elf to reach the trees and pulled him into the forest with him, not even stopping to give reasoning for his strange behaviour.

Legolas now sat upon a rock, legs crossed and hands resting lightly on his knees palms up, face passive as he mentally followed Aragorn's pacing. For some reason this made Aragorn all the more angry: the elf's casual demeanour, as if he didn't know the meaning of this confrontation, or as if he didn't even _care._ Aragorn certainly cared.

"Why?"

Legolas simply cocked his head, hair trailing softly in the light wind as the ranger's pacing came to an abrupt halt.

"What do you speak of-" Legolas began nonchalantly, but only for Aragorn to angrily cut him off.

"_Don't!_" Aragorn growled darkly, stance shifting as he leant towards the elf, a finger pointing in warning as his face twisted and body shook in his fury, "Do not _dare_ deny this, Elf."

Never had Aragorn addressed Legolas so, and never even spoken to him with such _anger_, but the ranger now had a just cause for the emotion. And he had no time for the elf's games. For a while there was silence, Aragorn seething as Legolas sat completely motionless, hidden gaze turned towards him.

" 'Elven prince'" Aragorn recited Saruman's words when the elf gave no indications of replying, "Such titles are not found easily, Legolas."

"There are many other-"

"_Oh_, do not take me for a fool!" Aragorn turned his face despairingly to the treetops as his arms raised then hit his sides uselessly, before taking a heavy step further towards the elf, voice fast becoming a snarl, "Surely, you know me better… ah, wait, _forgive me_, I am _not_ close to your heart-"

"_What?_" It was Legolas' turn to interrupt as he cried out indignantly, suddenly on his feet as he faced Aragorn's wrath with his own desperation, "Never!"

"Then why must you keep secrets from me? Like a child sneaking from his brother." Aragorn's voice softened abruptly, eyes melting though the elf could not see their unshed tears, "Am I not like a brother to you? How could you even scheme to keep this from me?"

"I had not meant to hurt you, Estel!"

"Am I not worthy of being told?"

"You _are_-"

"_Why did you not tell me!_" Aragorn's bellow was desperate, and he knew that it was too loud, that surely the others had heard him, but discretion was far from his mind. "_Why_?"

The elf seemed to contemplate him for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line as he was torn in two. His hesitation was not long, nor was it obvious, but enough for a new wave of rage to hit the ranger.

"Because I know you would act like this…" Was Legolas' final reply, and Aragorn bit back a sob as he lowered his head, turning away from his friend. It was only then that he noticed the pain in his hand, and realised just how hard he'd been gripping his sword hilt. "Estel?"

Aragorn did not answer, instead staring at the pattern compressed deeply into his hand. A few cuts showed where the hard edges had bit into his palm, but around them entwined the clear indentation of leaves and vines, never seeming to end, blending into each other; funny, how such things in life were complicated.

"Estel?" Legolas' concerned voice snapped him back to reality, and he realised with a flush that the elf had called his name multiple times as he'd stared blankly at his hand. _How does he know if I've not already left?_ Aragorn wondered briefly as he lowered his hand, sucking in a deep breath before turning his back on his friend and heading noisily back to camp, ignoring the curious eyes on him as he hunkered down by Gimli's roaring fire.

_He knows now._

_

* * *

_

_They sat at Parth Galen, the soft and steady ebb and flow of the Anduin washing through Legolas as he leant back on his elbows, long legs stretched out before him while birds tweeted excitedly in the far distance. The figure next to him watched with amusement, preferring instead to sit upright and follow the elf's movements with dark eyes rather than enjoy the world around them. After a short while, Legolas sat up, pulling his legs in and crossing them as he glanced uneasily at the Gondorian, a troubled frown settling over his fair face._

_"What are you?" The elf asked curiously, not even hesitating with the blunt question._

_Boromir simply chuckled, the deep sound pleasing yet confusing in light of the situation as the man smirked at the elf. He cocked an eyebrow at Legolas, but replied nonetheless with a patronising air._

_"Why, I am everything and anything." He chuckled, as if the answer had been obvious._

_"And what, pray tell me, does that mean?" Legolas enquired dubiously, annoyed that even even the pragmatic and blunt Gondorian had caught Gandalf's habit of riddle speaking._

_Boromir looked away for a moment, contemplating a far away object as he cocked his head lightly and frowned as he thought, lips pursed._

_"Well," He began slowly, "I am… a figment of your imagination… or a kindred spirit… or, indeed, a ghost of the past- rather, _your _past."_

_Legolas nodded as if the answer was one he'd expected, silently looking out over the water with his hands clasped lightly in his lap._

_"Then…" He chose his words carefully, "if you are of my own impression, must we have the presence of the… arrows?"_

_Again, Boromir cocked an amused eyebrow, grinning._

_"It is a _reminder_." Boromir's grin widened as he considered Legolas' uneasiness, before shrugging nonchalantly, "You prefer we would be rid of their company?"_

_It was more a statement than a question, but Legolas nodded nonetheless, watching with alarm as the Gondorian seized one thick shaft and wrenched it from his shoulder with a grotesque sucking noise, taking a chunk of bloody flesh with it._

_"I didn't quite mean like that…" Legolas mumbled faintly as he turned his attention elsewhere, nausea rising in him as two more 'suck's followed the first. By the time his attention was refocused, the arrows were on the ground beside them while Boromir crossed his arms over his broad chest, one side of his mouth quirked as he gazed readily back at the elf._

_Legolas took a deep breath, running a shaky hand over his face, before resting both arms on his knees, letting his hands hang limply as he turned his eyes back to the man. He examined him for a moment, taking in the once stern grey eyes- now alight with mirth- and the smirk amidst the lightly bearded, strong jaw._

_"Why are we here?" Legolas asked, "You and I?"_

_Boromir did not immediately reply, simply shifting to lie flat on his back, arms resting over his chest as he looked lazily up at the elf. With a pang, Legolas recognised the position as the last he'd seen Boromir in flesh and blood, disappearing in a boat over Rauros._

_"I think you already know, my friend." Boromir simply replied._

* * *

"Elvish wine, on the other hand, is developed more for delicacy than strength."

"Ah, yes! I've often heard of the famed taste of Lord Elrond's wine in particular."

"Of course, Aragorn has stolen enough of the stuff in his youth to be rather familiar with its taste…"

Aragorn laughed aloud, his joy echoed by the wizard and the king as the soldiers and women around them drank and danced to their heart's content. Rohan was in a period of celebration, the victory of Helms Deep a well-earned addition to hope and the mead a well-earned award for all. Merry and Pippin danced merrily on one of the tables, their singing enjoyed by all soldiers and encouraged by those seated at the table around them, a pint in each of their grasps. Aragorn was meanwhile conversing with Gandalf and Théoden, discussing the subtle and not-so-subtle differences between the quality of the Rohirrim and Gondorian wines and Elvish wine.

"Now, the wines of my forefathers, on the other hand, are notorious for their strength!" Théoden roared with laughter, a tankard of ale in his own hand as the wizard and ranger laughed with him.

"Doubtless the Hobbits will have the courage to face their potency!" Aragorn replied, gesturing to the singing Hobbits.

Instead, what he saw past the Hobbits stopped him: a large ruckus, originating around a single spot in the dim hall. Looking closer, he could see a snoring Gimli fast asleep, slumped on the floor with his short legs high in the air, dangling against the wooden bench he'd most likely fallen from.

What was more, at least a dozen other men were fast asleep around the table: some also on the floor, some slumped over the table. And in the heart of the ale-binge sat Legolas, eyes bleary and lithe body swaying as he sat at the table, chin resting on a hand as he attempted unsuccessfully to glare down another mortal contestant, a mug poised in his hand. As Aragorn watched, the elf waved the mug vaguely in the air as his lips moved sluggishly, before suddenly laughing raucously and slapping his hand hard on the table- to Aragorn's horror, the other men joined in the laughter as the elf's words drifted over.

"And then- _ha!_- and _then_ he fell _into_ the pond!" The elf practically collapsed in a fit of giggles as the men around him exploded with even louder laughter. The ranger gulped.

"Well, I must say, your friend can certainly hold his liquor…" Théoden murmured in amaze as he followed Aragorn's gaze, but Aragorn was already moving off towards the table, face flushed in embarrassment as Gandalf chuckled after him.

His sudden presence at the table elicited a few sniggers and chuckles- one man even nudged the one beside him and gestured to Aragorn, before both roared with laughter- all of which he ignored as he faced the elf.

"Estel!" Legolas exclaimed cheerfully, throwing his arms wide in delight and spilling half of his drink in the process. When the elf brought the mug back to his lips he froze, peering into the mug as if he'd no idea where the ale had fled to, or as if he could even see into it, "I was just telling," He continued regardless, completely forgetting the loss of his ale, "these fine men," he giggled, "of the time you were convinced that you could-"

Aragorn tried his best to ignore the rest of Legolas' explanation, his eyes travelling instead in exasperation to an amused Éomer, leaning against the barrels of ale beside Legolas. The younger man merely shrugged, struggling to suppress a grin as Aragorn rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the inebriated elf.

"Yes, yes, Legolas, I know of the story, I was there- there is no need to retell it." He interrupted the elf quickly, lest he continued to the more embarrassing details, putting a hand on his slender shoulder, "And I think that is quite enough ale for you, mellon nîn."

Legolas' face immediately dropped, brow creasing as he pouted.

"But I haven't won yet." He said timidly, sounding very much like a stubborn child.

Aragorn threw up his hands and looked despairingly over to Éomer, who quickly stood upright and wiped the smile from his face with a small cough before turning to the men and raising his arms in the air, his own tankard in hand.

"I declare Legolas Thranduillion the _winner_ of these, ahem, _many_ drinking games!" He called loudly, eliciting a groan from Legolas' drunk opposition and cheers from the other men and Théoden. It may have been Aragorn's imagination, but he was certain he heard a wizard's cheer amidst the others…

Putting no more thought to it, Aragorn proceeded to lug Legolas from the hall and away from the cheering men, the drunken elf stumbling and giggling along.

"I won, Estel!" Legolas whispered excitedly to Aragorn, hot breath tickling the ranger's ear as they stumbled into the corridor and towards the room in which the three hunters would sleep that night.

"Yes, I know, Legolas." Aragorn told the elf, releasing his grip on him only to have Legolas come close to walking into a wall. Hastily, he dragged the elf away, again taking up his grip and leading him.

However, the problem this brought was that Legolas then threw his arm over Aragorn's shoulders, taking him into a playful headlock that consequently ended with Aragorn on his back and the elf lying on top of him, in the midst of yet another fit of giggles.

"Ahem." A small, polite cough sounded and Aragorn tipped his head back to see Éowyn peering curiously down at them, a small smile on her lips. "Do you require any aid, my lord?"

With a groan- and an embarrassed cough of his own- Aragorn pushed Legolas off to the side, getting to his feet as he brushed the imaginary dust from his clothes and faced the fair lady.

"Thank you for the offer, my lady, but I'm sure I will manage." He declined politely.

Éowyn nodded, before blushing and ducking her head with a hand on her lips as she suppressed a laugh. Confused, Aragorn looked behind him to see Legolas was still on the floor, giggling uncontrollably and rolling about as he clutched his sides. Again gulping in embarrassment, he graced Éowyn with a sheepish smile before quickly striding over to the mirthful elf, helping him up from the ground and leading him- still giggling- past the smirking lady.

Fortunately for Aragorn, there were no other embarrassing incidents for the remainder of the short journey, and Aragorn was soon laying Legolas down on the elf's bed. Legolas sighed, relaxing as Aragorn drew only a thin blanket over him- for the days were hot- before sitting back on his haunches and contemplating his elven friend, lips pursed. He gladly allowed his thoughts to swiftly consume him.

How could he have not seen it? He, a seasoned ranger, had failed to see past the elf's desperate lie. And he, raised amongst the elves of Imladris, had failed to see the elf's true ailment. Warg attack? Surely, he should have realised that a Warg attack would have meant the elf would be totally and completely blind. What kind of Warg wound meant the victim could see in the dark and not the light? What most riled Aragorn was just how painfully obvious it was, how stupid the lies were, how blind he was- oh, the irony…

And now, as he examined Legolas closely, he could clearly see the ravages of the poison: how the elf's skin was paler than what was healthy, even for the fair folk; how his clothes seemed to hang from him thin frame; how there were imprints of bandages, subtle yet something he, as a healer, should have noticed. He lifted the elf's tunic, ignoring the resulting protesting moan, to inspect the mass of bandages.

"'Tis –_hiccup_- Gandalf's work, Estel." Legolas slurred, pushing his hands away and patting his tunic back down, "Leave it."

Aragorn relented, again arranging the blanket over his friend. He was turning to leave when a hand caught his wrist, halting him.

"Estel?" Came Legolas' soft and heartfelt whisper, "Forgive me…"

Aragorn's heart twisted. _Nay, forgive me._ Carefully, he tucked the stray limb beneath the blanket, gripping Legolas' shoulder firmly and watching as Legolas' head lolled towards him.

"There is naught to forgive." He said softly, before rising to his feet, "Now, rest. I would not want to be you in the morning."

But Legolas was already fast asleep, chest rising and falling steadily, lips slightly parted.

Aragorn left the pleasant sight with growing hope.


	17. Delirium

**A/N:** Only one more week 'till the summer holidays, yay! I'll be doing nothing for at least 4 weeks of the seven, but oh well. Now, the content in this here chapter is the very reason I even started writing this story in the first place. I watched a clip from a tv show on youtube- the tv show is COMPLETELY unrelated to LotR- and this scenario just popped into my head. All I had to do was add meat; funny, how something as weird and simple as this became a fic about poison and redemption, right? Oh, and don't worry- no more 2 month hiatuses. Have a very lovely summer holiday all! Read on...

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**Starcrossed  
**Delirium

The night drew on, the men downing tankard after tankard after tankard, until finally the celebrations began to die down and, slowly, the great hall emptied of drunk soldiers, arms over each others shoulders in groups and singing old shanties as they trudged home. The Hobbits had fallen asleep on the same table they'd sung and danced on earlier, Merry spread-eagle on his back, mouth slightly open and snoring, while Pippin lay curled around an empty tankard, using Merry's stomach as a pillow for his head, which rose and fell with each of his cousin's breaths. Éomer stood a little way away from the two, an arm wrapped loosely around his beloved sister as he took another sip of ale, smirking lethargically as Éowyn wrinkled her nose in disapproval and tried to pry the drink from his fingers. He relented only when she dug her elbow into his side, causing him to recoil sharply and loosen his grip, but received a peck on the cheek for his co-operation. Gandalf nonchalantly leant back against one wooden pillar, absent-mindedly lighting the pipe in his mouth as Théoden spoke softly beside him, his own pipe posed in hand near his mouth as he used it to gesticulate, his head lightly cocked and a far away look in his eyes as he recalled the taste of his mother's strawberries, and lovingly described the smell of freshly hewn grass and dew.

Aragorn himself sat at a table across from Gimli, stirring for him a broth with a heavy odour- Éowyn's, though he took care not to mention this to the dwarf- as Gimli wearily held his head in his hands, elbows resting on the tabletop. He'd only recently come round from his drunken stupor, and now seemed only too pleased to wallow in self-pity as he paid with a banging headache and the urge to let out string after string of colourful, dwarven swears between groans. One word even came close to a yell, making the others jump as slammed his open palm down onto the table.

"How do you fare, Gimli?" enquired Aragorn, lips curling upwards into a grin as considered the dwarf, knowing fully well what type of answer he would receive.

His reply was an almost unintelligible grunt of something to do with trolls and hammers as the dwarf stared down at the small spirals in the wood of the table, throbbing temple cradled in his right hand.

"Perhaps, Gimli," Came Gandalf's deep bass from around the pipe, having heard his fill of strawberries, chuckling darkly, "this will teach you to think twice- nay, _thrice,_ before challenging an elf to a drinking game."

Gimli let go of his head long enough to shoot the wizard a frown.

"Elves have remarkable resilience to ale, my dear dwarf." Gandalf answered his silent question, chuckling again when the frown became a glare, "You had never a chance!"

Aragorn's grin widened, laughter in his throat as he put the spoon down in the bowl and pushed the broth towards the dwarf, "This will help," He told him, with a look that left Gimli with no choice but to take up the spoon and battle the mighty broth.

" 'Tis my pride that needs the help, lad," Gimli muttered darkly, staring down at the liquid and getting ready to scoop a spoonful. As he did so, a curious lump began to drift inconspicuously over the top and the dwarf's skin turned promptly green. "Though, even my pride would not brave this… substance."

With a deep frowned, he gingerly brought the spoon to his lips, taking a small sip. Immediately, he spluttered, spitting the broth out as he did so before collapsing into a fit of coughing that had Éomer come over just to give him an almighty _thwack_ on the back.

"_Are you trying to poison me, Lad?"_

"You do not like it?"

"_I do not like it? OF COURSE, I DON'T." _Bellowed Gimli, nose wrinkled in disgust at the foul taste.

"Is that not my soup?" Came suddenly another voice, soft and fair as the beautiful Éowyn joined them. Éomer smirked, before hiding it with his fist and turning away from his sister's prying eyes.

"_Y-your_, er, soup?" Gimli stuttered, before forcing out a throaty laugh and beaming smile, "Why, your soup is _delicious, _lass! I was just, er, talking about this here, ale… I suspect the ranger spiked it."

"This _ranger_ has done nothing of the sort!" Aragorn snorted, lifting his hands in defence with a smirk, and a wink in Éomer's direction, "I was simply-"

But Aragorn's explanation was interrupted by a hollow bang and a guard's protest, and all turned to see Grima cowering at the door, sallow skin odd in appearance against the orange hue of the hall.

He scurried towards them, black clothes just sweeping clear of the floor as his hands fidgeted convulsively, and stopped just short of them with a small gulp and hesitation, giving a quick and sheepish bow before keeping his head lowered and eyes averted- especially from the Wizard- in respect.

"Speak, Grima, what is the matter?" Théoden frowned as the black-clad man flinched at being addressed in such a polite tone; the once-traitor had received much insult and controversy on his return to Edoras, and even children glared as he passed them in the corridors. Théoden, on the other hand, held a strange sort of tenderness towards him despite Éomer's clear loathing of Wormtongue- nevertheless, he was not yet used to kindness.

"Er, y-your friend, the Master Elf, is in… d-distress." He stuttered, motioning with a shaking hand back the way he'd came back through the hallways, "There were, _are_, sounds and b-bangs but- none dare enter…"

For a moment everyone merely stared blankly at Wormtongue, perhaps out of doubt of the reliability of his words- after all, his name held a meaning that was not so kind- before Gimli finally broke the silence, his bench scraping back with the force of his momentum as he stood rapidly.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" He demanded rhetorically, already charging past Grima, through the doors and into the hallway.

The others followed quickly after him- bar the Hobbits, who still slept despite the hubbub and clattering of chairs- passing through hallways and corridors, disgruntled soldiers and confused maids who stared after them before they finally reached the room. Grima had indeed been right, and the loud bangs, clangs and occasional yells passed easily through the thick wood of the door to spill into the hallways. One guard- clad in the amour of the Rohirrim- stood just outside the room and jumped when he saw the approaching figures, his shoulders slumping in relief as Aragorn was the first of the group to reach him.

"We weren't sure whether to enter, my lord." He told the ranger solemnly, stepping out of the way as Aragorn threw a nod in his direction and carried straight on to the doors. With a deep breath, he placed his palms on the wood and threw open the doors.

Disorder and disarray is what met him. The whole room was upturned, each bed ruffled, a cupboard overturned, and even a vase lay smashed in pieces on the floor, spewing crockery, water and flowers over the cold marble. Aragorn noted with disdain that Legolas' sheets alone were on the floor, and moved further into the room as the others poured in behind him, gasps and confusion galore. What had happened? Where was his friend? Where was Legolas?

And, as if answering his silent question, with speed seemingly surpassing that of an elf, Legolas was suddenly in front of him, grabbing his shoulders, covered in sweat with his golden hair tousled and the makings of a bruise on his temple, peaking from beneath the white cloth around his eyes.

"Aragorn!" The elf exclaimed, though out of relief or despair, Aragorn knew not. He decided on the former as a half-crazed grin appeared on Legolas' lips, and the elf patted Aragorn's cheeks as if to make sure he was real. Quickly, the ranger took hold of Legolas' hands, keeping them still in his grasp as he softly asked what was wrong.

"Estel!" Legolas paid no heed to his question, "It's you. It _is_ you, isn't it? Yes!"

His grin widened, and Aragorn's worry would have turned to the elf's sanity had he not caught sight of Legolas' hand. "Legolas, your hand!" The palm was burnt; the fingers already peeling as he peered closer, only to have Legolas snatch his hand away.

"Another time, Estel, not now!" Legolas snapped impatiently, waving his hands in the air as if it emphasised his point. Aragorn found himself holding his own hands up, feeling very much as though he were trying to calm a rogue horse in a stable. _Show you mean peace, you mean no harm, you have no wea- Legolas is an elf, not an animal!_

"What is wrong, Legolas?" However his mind argued, Aragorn's voice betrayed his tactics of instigating calm, and still his hands remained aloft.

"Wrong? What is wrong?" Legolas exclaimed, and Aragorn was given the distinct impression that he should already know, "Oh, Estel, mellon nîn, _everything_ is wrong. Oh, so, very, very wrong."

Aragorn frowned, glancing back over his shoulder at his companions. Gandalf stood in front, staff in his grip, his frown matching that of the dwarf's beside him, while Théoden and Éomer shooed away maids and soldiers, and Éowyn carried a look of anxiety. Licking his dry lips, Aragorn turned back to his friend, gaze delicate and stature relaxed as he lowered his hands to hang at his side.

"What do you speak of, mellon nîn?" He enquired delicately, cocking his head a margin to the side

"Reality and dreams, Estel. _Reality and dreams!_" Legolas cried, throwing his arms up in exasperation before suddenly surging forward, seizing the front of Aragorn's clothes, "Sweet Eru, but first you _must_ promise me something, mellon nîn."

Aragorn looked down at the fists knotted in his tunic, then back up to his friend, his worry escalating with almost dangerous speed.

"Anything!"

"Stay away from trolls, Estel." Legolas ordered him, but the ranger simply blinked at the peculiar request, "Oh, you _must_ stay away! And promise me that you will not die!"

Aragorn hesitated, unwilling to make such a promise. How was that in his power? The elf knew that their deaths were not in their hands, he knew all had to die, and he knew they could not even control the future- so why the hysteria and panic? Why would his friend ask such a thing of him? But the elf was desperate for an answer, shaking him forcefully and demanding yet again. "_Promise me!_"

"You have me word!"

Legolas sighed shakily in relief, a short smile flitting over his face as he released his hold on the ranger, visibly relaxing. Aragorn took a small step back, hoping that was the end to the elf's delirium- but Legolas tensed again, almost immediately, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Oh, but of course you won't die, nor will you receive a scratch whilst I draw breath." He breathed with strength, face falling into angst and turmoil, "Ai, I have failed already, let me be damned if I fail yet again; oh, dear Boromir…"

The last three words were almost whimpered in distress and Aragorn's brow instantly furrowed. Boromir? What was the late Gondorian's part in all of this?

"Boromir?"

"Aye, Boromir- I failed him, Estel, I failed him. Mine may as well have been the arrows that felled him." Aragorn opened his mouth, as did Gimli from behind him, but Legolas interrupted both protests. "Do not! Do not, for I know what you might say," He pointed an accusing finger in their general direction, "but it was my fault. _My fault!_ I had my arrow on the beast, the foul beast, I had only to release and Boromir would be with us. I _had him_, Estel!" He grabbed his hair in despair, stepping heavily away from them all, "A-and then I tripped. Elves do not trip, Estel- and no creature should trip _at all _when a friend's _life_ is at risk!" He turned and in his rage kicked his own bed with all his might; he slumped down to sit back against it, his head bowed in his hands.

"It's my fault…" He whispered brokenly, shaking in fear and worry and despair…

Aragorn knew he should be at Legolas' side, comforting him, but the elf's sudden confession was a shock; it was something that took more than a moment. He stood for blinking slowly, before he felt Gandalf's presence beside him and remembered they were not alone in the room. Glancing again over his shoulder, he saw that Éomer was still out in the hallway, using his strong and commanding appearance and presence to keep curious onlookers well away, and Théoden had turned his gaze to elsewhere around the room- out of respect, Aragorn presumed. Contrary to her kinsmen's tactics, Éowyn stood beside Gimli, wearing her heart on his sleeve as she placed her hand on the dwarf's shoulder.

"I fear he is possessed with fever and delirium," Gandalf spoke wearily, voice riddled with trouble and brow with unease, "yet I am troubled by what he speaks of. If I'd but known he had taken full responsibility of Boromir's death on his shoulders, I would have offered him my counsel on the matter." He sighed, and seemed to deflate with the release of air, "How blind I have been…"

"No more than the rest of us."

"And yet guilt gnaws at me, for I know the blame is on- if any- all of us; including I."

The old Istar sighed again, moving slowly over to Legolas' trembling form, where he laid his staff against the bed and gingerly lowered himself in front of the elf. Carefully, he pried the Legolas' hands away from his blond hair and held them in his own.

"My dear young prince, the blame is not yours; it is a shared thing!" He told him with firm strength, almost forcing the words into Legolas' ears, "It was _I _who ignored Boromir, I who did not aid him as he fought the ring, I who did not heed his silent pleas for help when I was so clearly needed, I who all but condemned him! Aye, fortune fled and Boromir fell, but that was not of your doing." Gandalf's voice softened dramatically, a low and soothing murmur; Aragorn could see Legolas sagging little by little, "I was blind not to see you suffer for it, and for this I beg your forgiveness. You are an elf, Legolas: accustomed or not to death you are a race of mirth, not sorrow."

"Oh but Mithrandir, it is not only Boromir I have failed!" Legolas pulled his hands from Gandalf's grip as he protested, and even in the half-light could Aragorn spot crystal tears plain and stark upon his cheeks, "Had it no been for my accursed wound and slow gait, you would never have fallen in Moria! The Hobbits would never have lost spirit, nor would have the rest of us, and mayhap our fellowship would not have failed." Hysteria was taking Legolas again, Aragorn could see it, and as could Gandalf as he gently reached out and took Legolas' face in his gnarled hands. Yet the elf continued "Had you been there at Parth Galen, Frodo would not have wandered afar, Boromir would not have succumbed to the ring's evil, our fellowship need not have separated!" He bit back a choked sob, the next words a true whimper, "No, Mithrandir, my failing came early on."

It was folly, _all of it_. The elf was delirious to have even _thought _it, and just imagining the inner turmoil Legolas had been put through without his knowledge boiled Aragorn's blood. He wanted his friend to see sense; he would slap it into him if it came to it! But Gandalf's methods were much more conventional…

"Do not be foolish, Thranduilion!" Gandalf exclaimed, and with such deep power that it was almost a bellow; he practically shook with anger, "Would you have Eru punish you for an injury obtained whilst protecting the ringbearer?" He lifted Legolas' chin, "You have more sense than that, Legolas: you need only think."

More tears slipped from the beneath the white cloth, and Legolas wept openly now, shaking as he did so.

"But now again, I failed once more not an hour ago!" He cried, "Alas, in my distress I fear I lost all reasoning. Oh, Mithrandir, not a dream, _not a dream_, a vision!"

Gandalf was lost for words, and Aragorn could not blame him.

"Sweet Eru…"

Théoden's abrupt, soft murmur rang aloud in the room, drawing the attention of even Éomer in the hall, and turning every set of eyes bar Legolas' to the source of Théoden's interest; upon the wall behind the open door was a drawing, composed solely from the black of coal. It was a dead tree; no leaves fluttered upon its withered and gnarled branches, curling like fingers outwards. Black flames reached from the floor to the ceiling, licking at the tree and bathing it in darkness, and Aragorn did not need any clue as to what it was, he'd seen it many a time before: the Tree of Gondor.

With no hesitation, Gandalf spun straight back to Legolas, desperate now as he clutched Legolas' face in his hands.

"Your vision?" He asked quickly, "You saw this in your vision?"

"The eye… in my head. A city burned, Mithrandir," Legolas' voice quivered, a small and drawn whisper, "The _eye… _I saw the_ eye."_

"What did he say?" Gandalf demanded almost impatiently, "_What did the eye say?"_

Legolas hesitated, head twitching feverishly in Gandalf's grip as his ragged gasps quickened, and he gulped convulsively in fright.

"I could _feel _him… in my _head_… rummaging- he… he w-was looking for s-something." Legolas suddenly flinched, recoiling away from Gandalf as he cried out in despair. "A memory, _ai_, and my failure this night: he took a memory of Pippin!"


	18. Decisions

**A/N: **This is an INCREDIBLY short chapter! I seem to have hit a major wall, and now can't even write poetry because of writer's block :'( However, this little thing was written just before the disease, so I may as well post it as it is. I'm trying not to stray into the squealing Legolas fan, and believe me, I'm not. I like him for the right reasons, just as I love Boromir. To be honest, I can barely get through Pirates of the Caribbean because I hate Orlando Bloom so much... Don't kill me!

**C**

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Starcrossed  
**Decisions  
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Legolas leant against a pillar; Gimli sat smoking at his elbow in what was, by now, a familiar position for both as Gandalf spoke. The wizard, for all the melancholy and intensity of his words, addressed only a few: the Hunters, the Hobbits and the King. And none, not even Théoden, dared to interrupt, dared to question, dared to scoff.

This was a private meeting.

"There was no lie in Legolas' words," Gandalf spoke, deep bass cast back and forth from the walls, impacting and important, "nor was there deception in the vision… I know not _how_ it occurred, but we must now use it to our advantage."

Around the syllables, the Elf could hear Pippin fidgeting, shuffling uncomfortably in his chair as if so unused to large halls or attention. Merry, presumably sat beside the younger Hobbit, rebuked Pippin softly, halting his fidgeting at once. Legolas did not know how much Pippin knew, of what the happenings of last night meant for him. Surely, at least, he knew the graveness of the situation. The dour mood of all in the hall was blatant, the feeling infectious even to the likes of a child. _Just a child…_

Overcome with guilt, Legolas turned his attention elsewhere, senses roaming the hall- avoiding the Hobbits, avoiding the Wizard- and catching the soft sound of Estel's slow, yet restless, pacing. It was fast becoming a familiar sound, continual and almost rhythmic. _One could play the fiddle to it_, Legolas supposed, before shaking himself from mirthful thoughts. In the serious air, mirth was something that could be done without, for now. It was impossible to decipher Estel's emotions, whether he was angry or simply anxious- how he wished for his sight. _He is angry, he must be, _Legolas decided, perhaps with too much haste and too little thought. _And at that, with me._

**I sincerely doubt that, Legolas.**

Legolas jumped half a foot in the air at the voice; he had heard no footsteps approach, felt no inkling of a nearing presence other than Gimli! And yet the words were as if spoken into his ear. Impossible, an elf's senses could never be deceived… and yet… He knew that none of those in Rohan, let alone Edoras, possessed such a voice, rich with the terse accent of Gondor…

"-to strike the city of Minas Tirith."

Legolas forgot the voice, ignored whoever it was, to suppress a grimace at these words, hanging his head a little. _Ai, my eyes have never fallen upon its white walls, and never will. And yet, I feel bound to this city, this Minas Tirith. Mayhap I will never see its beauty, though fresh in my mind's eye is a description. Boromir always told stories of his beloved city._

**Aye- is that not enough for now?**

This time, the Elf merely lifted his head at the voice, teeth gritted. It was unmistakable, the voice. Would his past ever cease to haunt him?

'…_Boromir?'_ He asked cautiously, in his mind.

**None other.**

'_Is it not enough that you plague me in my dreams?' _Legolas sighed, earning a curious nudge to his elbow from Gimli, to which he replied with a small shake of his head and twitch of his shoulders.

_**Plague**_** you? Dear friend, I am hurt!**

It was curious. The source of the voice was certainly not from the out, but instead echoed inside his head, projecting from deep within. Judging by Gimli's lack of interest, and the argument brewing between Théoden and Gandalf, it was obvious that none other could hear it.

"-what do we owe Gondor?"

Legolas resisted anger at Théoden's refusal of aid, shut his mouth against the word 'everything.' For did they not owe Gondor much? Did the armies of Gondor not march from Minas Tirith to war while Théoden sat on his throne, poisoned and withered? Did the blood of the Gondorian's not paint the ground, while others sipped wine? His emotions churned inside of him, but he could not let them get the better of him. And so, instead, he thought:

'_Strange. You were not often joking in life.'_

_**Often**_** is there the key word- I had my moments.**

Gandalf had again taken over, now also pacing slowly as he spoke, staff in hand and bobbing with each step, like an apple in water.

"I ride for Minas Tirith, and I won't be going alone… From Legolas' mind, Sauron stole a single memory, of Pippin." Here Legolas again hung his head, and Pippin audibly cringed in his chair as five pairs of eyes flickered to him. "He now thinks that _Pippin _carries the ring, and for this reason I must take him with me…"

'_I seem to remember your dour moods, sullen expressions, and incessant pacing.'_

**Then you forget my bonding with the little ones. Or, rather, with Merry and Pippin.**

"But another also, shall come." Gandalf carried, and here he stopped and turned his attention to one individual. "I ask that Legolas would join us."

Legolas head snapped up, confused as he took in the offer. To Minas Tirith, he could go. But should he stay or should he go? Here, he would only be a hindrance, for Rohan would inevitably be pulled into war and he could not allow anyone to fuss over him or feel any obligations towards him, merely because he was blind. In Gondor, perhaps he could meet the famed Faramir, even fulfil his longing…

**If you truly seeking retribution, then my city is where you will find it.**

"I will come." Legolas replied, nodding as if to reinforce his agreement.

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p.s. I will be going thoroughly over the previous chapters for typos and rubbish writing.


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